Could This Be?
by Pipshall
Summary: Isabella Saunders meets Richard Stewart a strange masked busker who is more then he first seems. Despite all odds, the two are deeply attracted. Will fate step in and let them love each other? Could this be? Love, angst and rock music rule the day!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Chapter One

Ah, Covent Garden – this little village within the hustle and bustle of metropolitan London, the square of cobbles, surrounded by expensive shops and bars, the café down in the basement in the apple market and the Opera House sitting with it's bulk casting shadow on the piazza.

I love this little part of the city, from the stupid amounts of money that are hourly dragged out of unsuspecting tourists and locals alike, caught up in the charm of what used to be the centre of the fruit and vegetable trade in London to the people spewed out from the underground station on the corner, unaware that it is quicker to walk down Long Acre, to the dozens of street performers that scattered the area.

It was a warm summer's evening and I sat on the balcony of the Punch and Judy pub, looking down on part of the piazza that sat behind the disused St Paul Church. As usual there was a gathered crowd surrounding a street entertainer, carrying on the tradition of performing to the passing masses. It was a great way to get some free entertainment whilst having an after work drink. Most of the time it was simply a background track to the noise and gossip as my friends and I dissected our love lives, wardrobes and men; occasionally it would be good enough to break our conversation and have us leaning over the stone railing to watch.

Tonight was definitely an off-day. A human statue, not that interesting to watch; a rather bad juggler and a singer who fancied himself the next James Blunt, but missed by at least a couple of flat notes. So we just sat there, downing more then our recommended daily allowance of white wine and talking about anything and everything that was important or more usually; totally banal.

I was sitting on the outside for once, my new diet (for this month) allowed me only a small glass of wine every other day and I had been nursing my sauvignon for over an hour; so that it was now unpleasantly warm and volatile in flavour. It was easier to let the nasal whine of Rachel's monologue float over me, occasionally pulling a sympathetic face when her tone told me she was complaining about someone or something. Past experience had taught me that this was usually her boyfriend or her manager at work – they seemed to take it in turns to be her most unpopular person.

Therefore the delicate notes of a violin piercing the chatter of the crowd drew my attention and I turned to see what was going on down below. Whoever or whatever it was it seemed to have drawn quite a crowd for they were standing up to four deep around the square, unintentionally creating a stage.

The angle from where I was standing gave me a foreshortened view of the busker who stood in the middle, not seeking the protective shade of the pillars. Even in the warm heat of the day I saw that he was garishly mocked up in some costume. "Oh god, not another bloody human statue, mime artist," I muttered to myself, moving to turn away again, I could not be bothered to give the scene my attention.

However as I did he chose to look up at the balcony, away from the people down below and for a second it felt as if our eyes locked, even if I was not the only one looking down. The gaze he held me in caused me to frown for I noticed that part of his costume was a skull like domino, covering the top half of his face. He had ringed his eyes in black kohl and paint, causing the holes in the mask to appear endless and deep, his eyes like two glittering jewels set in the inky black.

He held the bow to his violin loosely in a black leather gloved hand, the other casually resting the instrument against his hip. He spoke no words to me, but his mouth turned up in a smirk as I looked at him, causing me to toss my hair back in annoyance and pull a sarcastic smile back.

Our brief wordless exchange over, he returned his attention to the hordes of tourist surrounding his patch. "Do you wish to hear death play?" The words came out coldly, hovering over everyone and dropping down like mist. With no further encouragement he lifted the violin and tucked it under his chin, drawing the bow down and started to play Saints-Saens 'Danse Macarbe'.

There was something in his manner, the easy way he moved back at forth, grabbing the eye of one person, then the other, bending down low and moving around the square as he played that kept my interest. That and the outlandish garb he was wearing. Tight red velvet trousers and a red velvet jacket with black knee length boots. Dramatic and over the top, no doubt hot on a warm summers evening like this. Yet he still managed to carry both the costume and the music off with a lazy insolence. It was all too easy to stand there and play music as so many did within the Apple Market, but this man managed to combine performance with his playing.

The applause was enthusiastic when he finished and with a brief flick of his hair out of his eyes he broke into another energetic performance. For forty minutes he played without stop, the music getting livelier and faster with each passing tune until at the end, he swept the instrument away and tore the mask off his face, bowing to the crowds.

There was a wave of cheering that momentarily had me peering out again and this time I was shocked, for even though the busker had removed his mask, he still seemed to wear one, tighter, flesh coloured, but it was still a covering over his face and the black ringed eyes staring out were still mocking.

He moved around the square with a bowl, collecting the odd coppers and silver that the audience gave him in payment for his piece. And then, unusually he came and stood beneath the balcony, like Oliver with his begging bowl. I couldn't help but notice that I was the only one left standing looking out, my fellow colleagues resuming interest in their drinks, now that payment was being demanded for the entertainment.

With an indulgent smile that gave hint to my generosity I tossed down a couple of large two pound coins, a generous amount for a tip, but I felt he had deserved it. He caught it in the bowl with ease, gave me a bow that contained more then a hint of contempt and flashed a smile that was filled with an indolent ease.

And that strange, wordless incident was the start of the most amazing relationship in my life.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Even in my limited knowledge I knew that my anti-hero would not be performing in the square the next day. The buskers never got the same patch more then about three times a week, but instead moved around the streets performing in a variety of places, some legal; others not.

Therefore at lunchtime, rather then making a beeline for my usual sandwich bar (brown bap with salad, chicken, no mayo) I found myself wondering down the road and into the market. Now anyone who knows Covent Garden well, as I claim to do; should also know that it is possibly the worst place to wear high heels in. The vague narrow pavements, the ones not taken up by tables and chairs from nearby eateries are swarming with people and it is far easier to walk down the pedestrian cobbled streets – as long as you are in sensible footwear.

Paying homage at the door of Pied a Terre, L.K Bennett and even Jimmy Choo on one occasion, meant that I was not wearing the right sort of shoes. Delicate kitten heels in a creamy biscuit shade with a long pointed toe were not made for walking on mismatched uneven stones, actually there weren't really made for much walking at all! Therefore the innocent browse that I told myself and my office that I was going for turned into a parody of wrenching my shoes out of the gaps were the cement had eroded and trying very hard not to twist and ankle or break a heel!

I couldn't truly say why I was here, or what I was looking for, but I had found it increasingly difficult to get the image of the busker out of his mind. The way his lips stretched in the strange mocking smile, the hypnotic hold of his stare and the amazing way he had played the violin. Now if I had chosen to share my comments with my colleagues I am sure that they would have teased me for having a schoolgirl crush on a street performer. After all it was easy, they were there to entertain and project an image – a bit of fantasy went a long way to lining their pockets. But even with this cold hard knowledge I still could not shake him out of my mind.

Therefore I wandered in a lazy circle around the Apple Market. Not outside the church, that was fire eating jugglers, always gave me the jitters, all that heat and flame, reminded me too much of a friend's accident. Then through the middle, pausing to look in the window of Hobbs and see if there was any new footwear I could add to my collection. Nope, the only person performing was a string quartet, typical student ensemble who were actively encouraged to play in the basement of the South Hall. Then, through the market to the other side, facing the transport museum and the second pitch where you tended to find entertainment.

There was no one there however and I sunk onto one of the stone benches, peeling one of my shoes off a foot to rub the raw skin and the newly formed blister that had started to rise. My stomach growled slightly demanding lunch, complaining that I had broken my schedule to go on this merry wandering. I was just about to stand up and hobble back to the office when I heard the delicate sounds of a guitar floating out behind me, the Concerto de Aranjeuz, if I was not mistaken. Known in the music world as a notoriously difficult piece to play.

I spun around on my seat and there he was! Calmly sitting on one of the benches, his foot propped on top of his other knee; picking out the music with the same indolence as he had played the violin the night before. He was more simply dressed, no longer the sartorial suit that I had identified that morning as copied from the movie of the 'Phantom of the Opera', instead a simple pair of jeans that looked as if they had seen better, days, a black t-shirt and a black mask on his face.

He looked up and caught my gaze briefly; before looking down and I could have thought that he had not seen me at all except a puckish grin widened his mouth. Yet still he did not break rhythm and soon there was quite a crowd gathered around the smaller stage he had created between the benches.

One again I sat and listened to his playing for over half an hour, amazed at his nimble fingers dancing over the strings and frets of the instrument. He held his audience, glancing at an occasional person every so often, smiling in a knowing way, making several Japanese girls blush and giggle as he moistened his lips.

At the end he once again held out his collecting box, moving around the crowd who started to thin away and ended standing in front of me. The way the mask covered his face I was unable to see his eyebrows, but if they matched his mocking smile, I am sure they would have been raised.

Once again I tried to keep contact at a minimum, reach into my purse and pay him with the change I knew was in there – except it wasn't. All my hand met was a few small copper coins, instead of the five pounds I knew should be sitting in the change purse. And then I remembered the siren call of Starbucks on the way to work (Grande Mocha Frappuccino; a personal weakness) that had played havoc on both my wallet and my diet.

Unable to keep silent I looked around, time frozen by embarrassment and saw that the ad hoc audience had drifted away; bored with my indecision. To give him the scrapings of my wallet would have been an insult; twelve pence for the beautiful music I heard would not suffice. Instead I tried to hide behind humour. "Don't suppose you take cards?"

"No sorry," the reply came. "The chip and pin machine is broken today!" I barely heard the reply for I was so taken with the lilting Scottish accent, the words and constant softened by a lowland burr; that it swept me up. I sat there trying not to salivate at the way he delivered his words. I must have looked aghast for he continued. "If you feel that badly about it, I am in front of Jubilee Halls this evening, that is if you can tear yourself away from the pub!" There was a mocking sting in his words and I frowned.

"Look, you can have twelve pence now, 'cause that's all I have – sorry." My tone was petulant, annoyed that he had obviously categorised me without knowing what I was like, something that annoyed me beyond reason. "If you want to wait I might be able to get some more change, but there is no need to be rude!" I stood up, attempting to eyeball him, but realised that he was actually quite a bit taller then my average five foot and five inches! Instead I was forced to crane my neck and look up at him, gaze into indigo blue eyes, highlighted by the holes of the black mask he wore.

"Right, sorry," the reply was snapped back. "If you don't want to give me anything, don't feel you have to. A gift not freely given is not a gift at all!" He paused and inhaled deeply, causing his nostrils to widen. "Thank you for listening and have a nice day!"

If I thought I was riled before then the derision managed to raise the fur on my back. "Excuse me, enough of the sarcasm. I am trying to show you that I think you performance was very good and pay you for the pleasure of listening. Unfortunately I don't have any change on me; there is no need to be rude and sarcastic about the fact that I wish to give you some reward for your playing. At least I didn't chuck two pence in your box and walk away like some of those tourists did. If you are this ungracious you don't deserve anything at all!"

I turned and finding my way blocked by the stone bench climbed over it, not an easy thing to do in high heels and a tight skirt. As I did my mountaineering I felt a firm grip on my arm, helping me over the bench. I tried to ignore his touch against my skin as I climbed down the other side, but he wouldn't let go.

"Look, sorry, I didn't mean to be so sarcastic, old habits die hard. It was kind of you to come and listen again." His apology stopped me in my tracks and I turned round to face him, taking a deep sigh.

"Apology accepted, tell you what, let me buy you lunch then we'll be fair, okay?" I smiled in an attempt to seem friendly, restart the conversation without the sparing. I glanced up at him and saw a flicker of something I could not analyse pass across his face. "Deal?"

"Yeah okay, fair enough. No where fancy though – they won't let me in!" He swept a hand down, pointing out his ripped jeans and dirty trainers. "I'd better put my guitar away."

"Well, I'm only planning on the sandwich bar around the corner; don't get too excited." I stood and watched as he ran a loving hand over his instrument before he put it back into the case, then he tipped the money box upside down, letting the coins fall into his palm. He pulled a face at the sparse amount of change; mainly coppers, a few bits of silver and the odd one-pound coin winking in the pile. With a sigh he pocketed the money and once again gave me his full attention.

"As you're taking me out to lunch, do I get to know your name then?" I felt a frisson work its way down my spine at his soft voice, close to my ear and realised he was ready to make a move.

"Oh um, Izzy – well Isabella but no one calls me that so Izzy, yeah – just Izzy."

"Well just Izzy, I am just Richard or Ric as my friends call me, but never Dick." He smiled at me and I felt myself going weak at the knees with the sight. I wondered if this man realised how potent his manner was. Something made me think he did. "So where are you taking me!"

"My usual haunt – Long Acre – is that okay?" He nodded in reply and I started walking off, my awkward gait emphasised by the blister on my foot. Suddenly I felt his hand on my back, steadying and stabilising me against the cobbles and I shot him an embarrassed smile. It was hard to play a cool collected woman when you couldn't walk in your shoes properly.

I could not help but be consumed with curiosity at the sight of his face, but did not feel that I could ask why he was wearing a mask. Obviously the night before it had been part of his costume, but today, when he seemed to be in his own clothes, it made his appearance peculiar. I suppose the covering did draw attention towards him, although I could not figure out why; now, when we were moving away from his performing patch, he did not pull it off.

As far as I could see the mask was not for medical reasons, but looked as if it were simply from a costume shop and on a day like this it must add an unnecessary layer of heat. However, given his reaction to my lack of money I did not think that I could ask him about it, the answer and its delivery possibly being too negative and causing the closure of our fledgling relationship. Best just wait and see – after all there was a chance he would take it off of his own accord once more settled.

We sat on the small hard plastic chairs around a peeling Formica table at the back of the sandwich shop, suddenly awkward now that we were in different surroundings. I knew nothing about this man, apart from the fact that he was very musical. He could be a tramp, a drug accident, a thief for all I know and I had simply offered to take him out to lunch to appease my conscience. Yet he seemed to take my hesitation in good grace, ordered his sandwich and drink and sat back, a smile flitting on and off his face as he studied me indolently.

"What are you doing?" The words came out with a note of tension, now that I was unsure of myself.

"Trying to make sense of you Izzy," was his reply; delivered with a smile. "You are sitting here looking as if you are about to bolt. What's the matter?"

"I am just, I don't have much time," I started to make excuses for my behaviour, before realising that he could tell. "I have put myself in a difficult position here. I don't know anything about you and yet we are having lunch."

"I'm not homeless, yet" he added with a mirthless little laugh. "I am a kosher citizen of Her Majesty's United Kingdom and I am not planning on pick pocketing you or stealing your wallet or you phone." There was cool sarcasm hidden in his tone. "Anything else you want to know?"

"I, I, that wasn't what I meant," I stuttered; turning an unbecoming shade of red as it was exactly what I had been thinking. A large sandwich was placed in front of both of us and it provided a reason to stop the conversation that was going no where exceedingly fast.

I watched him as he ate; glad to see that he did not stuff the food into his mouth as if this was his first meal in ages; in fact he chewed slowly, almost carefully and in comparison to my careless eating showed very polite manners, even though we were only in a sandwich bar.

It would seem that this is how our conversation was to be conducted, each of us scoring points off the other, rising at a comment; sarcastic when we felt insulted. It wasn't easy at all and I found myself questioning my out of character behaviour. I wasn't normally the sort of girl to go for the rough and ready, or the outcasts of society; in fact I was practically stereotypical in my career, income, housing, lifestyle and choice of boyfriends. Maybe that was why I suddenly felt so out of place opposite this masked man.

He finished his mouthful, took a swig of his Diet Coke and once again skewered me with that penetrating glare. "You haven't answered my question, just Izzy. What else do you want to know?"

"About what?"

"About the state of the world economy at large!" The sarcasm was back. "No, about me you strange person. I assume you want to know more about me, or do you PR girls take it in turns to take us buskers out for lunch? Your idea of social work."

His comment made a wayward smile tug at my lips and I looked down at my empty plate to try and straighten it out. There was a sense of humour lurking behind the scorn.

Thankfully at that moment my mobile rang; it's pop tune tinny in the café. I pulled it out; trying to hide my relief, glad that it was work on the other end of the line, glad that they were asking where I was and that I was needed back in the office. It gave me a real excuse to end what hadn't been started and stop a line of questioning that I could not ask.

"I'm sorry, that was work, I'm gonna' have to go," I pulled a face trying to communicate, somewhat untruly, how sorry I was at the interruption.

"Nay bother," he shrugged. "Thanks for lunch."

"Your welcome, thanks for the entertainment." I did some mental calculation of the cost of our simple meal and pulled a ten pound note out of my wallet. "I really have to split, so um, this should cover it and uh – keep the change, you know, 'cause I didn't give you anything earlier!" I didn't dare look at his face, scared that he might be insulted; think I was just giving handouts. I should have realised from our brief conversation that he was too keen not to pick up on the meaning behind the words.

"Tell you what Izzy," he leant back in his chair and pinned me with his blue eyes, his fingers playing with the creased money. "You come and see me perform after work, outside the Jubilee Halls, like I said and I won't take umbrage at what you just said. Deal?" He echoed my earlier words.

How could I refuse? An invitation, a decree even from this strange man. I knew wild horses would have trouble keeping me away. "Deal!" I nodded and standing up flashed him a smile and walked out the shop, determined to not allow myself anywhere near him and Covent Garden market for at least the next two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The trouble with Central London is that there is a rather noticeable lack of wild horses, especially when you want them. I had been thankful to get back to the office after the awkward excuse for a meal that I had shared with Richard, but it still didn't mean that I could stop thinking about him.

The little I had seen of his personality was such a dichotomy. There was the undeniable musical talent and to a certain degree good manners, but it was all finished with a veneer of sarcasm that I found hard to tolerate. How could you have a rational conversation with someone and how could you get to know them if they always took offense at what you said and threw it back in your face?

So I sat there, supposedly manning the telephones and keeping an eye on the office, whilst all the account managers and people above my pathetically low career station holed themselves up in a meeting for the rest of the afternoon. It gave me plenty of time to think and muse, but four hours later I was no where nearer to an answer then when I had sat across a table from him.

I couldn't go and see him tonight, it would not be right, it would give the impression that I wanted something from him and to do so would be dire. I was confused, for my thoughts were in a jumble, how when I claimed to have a boyfriend could I even be looking at another man? Especially when that man was a sarcastic, masked busker? The answer was very very easy, the reasoning behind a little more difficult.

And of course there was the problem of Nigel! Good, kind, dependable Nigel who never put a foot wrong, who always said the right thing and treated me with an old fashioned courtesy. Good kind, dependable, boring, Nigel. I went out with him as much in honour of my Mother's memory as for that usual feeling of being flattered that someone had lifted you out of the crowds. Unfortunately Nigel has lifted me out, put me on a pedestal and was determined I stay there, however much I wished to jump off.

At the age of thirty he was a full five years older then me and had obviously got through his wild period (although I doubted he knew the meaning of the term). At two score and ten (as dickens would write) he seemed much older, his views and ideas almost belonging to another age, let alone age gap. However he was safe, he was secure and he flattered me and in my somewhat fragile world it was a good place to be. Much safer then flirting with masked street musicians with chips on their shoulder.

My life had suddenly changed a few years ago and it seemed stupid to rock the boat, to leave the safe little haven that I had created for myself. My Mother had died when I was only fifteen, the dreaded breast cancer creeping up on her and taking her life and destroying both my father's and my own in the process. We stumbled along some how, I buried myself in my exams, far easy to face the dreaded green GCSE paper then real life and Dad quietly withdrew into himself, finding solace in never ceasing work.

The kind talented man that had nurtured me was shuttered off, without my mother to tease and coax it out of him and instead he became increasingly distant and cold. Eventually when I was seventeen he off loaded me on to 'Auntie Anne', not an Aunt at all, but a longstanding friend of my mother's who could not bear to see my life go to waste. And so I moved town and county and changed my life, sharing my once happy existence with this bohemian woman and her daughter Margaret.

Thankfully their kindness and love stopped me drowning in a see of self pity and when the horrific news reached me that my father had chosen to end his life, it was to their supporting arms I turned. It happened whilst I was at university and becoming an orphan at the age of twenty was enough to overturn my happy existence, even though I claimed I felt little for my father anymore. My life went off the rails, my solid capable degree destroyed in a wave of drinking and finally teetering on the edge of alcoholism I dropped out all together.

Instead I wandered through my life for a few years, holding down various jobs, fast order cook, shop assistant, tour bus guide; museum rep. I never let any of them touch the inner me and never gave any passion to them. Secretly I envied Mags for her calling as a dancer at least allowed her a path to follow however vague and people appreciated the fact that she had a calling.

Instead I floated like flotsam and getsam upon the tide, going wherever its will took me and looking, always seeking a purpose in my life. My adventure into Public Relations was just another wander up another byway of life. I was bored of being the broke assistant and a conversation with one of Mags' friends (PR to the stars supposedly) made me think that it could be quite an interesting life. I had never lost my ability to learn and it only took me a year to be able to be gainfully employed by Farrow and Faith (effeff to those in the know – darling) as an Accounts Executive with a bad shoe habit, a faithful boyfriend and the ability to be bored to tears.

It wasn't the alluring world that Mags' friend had painted, no glamorous launch parties and late lunches, just an awful lot of begging and pleading with journalists, several late nights proofing copy and an awful lot of phone answering and coffee making.

My colleagues didn't realise that I wasn't one of them – not a 'dharling girl' with a nice degree and a nice family in the Home Counties. Instead a rather odd relationship with a sweet friend and her mother, who let's face it was eccentric at the best of times, was the most family I could muster. Nigel was the perfect front and ticket to belonging into this world and he assumed the same as the rest. Isabella Saunders was a nice girl, from a nice family who went to a nice school and had a nice life. I suppose it was true – it just stopped being so when I was fifteen.

Maybe that was why I was so riled with the way my masked man treated me. Ric, the words rolled off my tongue. His sarcasm and outward front amused me and drew me in; for I was sure that like me, they hid an injured person inside. Of course there was the possibility that I was wrong, but something didn't make me think so. He too was a seeker and a wanderer, guaranteed to always be on the edge of what life had to offer.

Suddenly I realised the danger of living a false life. As I sat there, idly tapping my pencil against my lips and pretending to work; it dawned on me the enormity of what I had done. I was pretending to be someone that I was not and when the chips were down I was not sure if I could continue being this fake person. I wasn't an actress and couldn't carry off a role indefinitely – I was actually a bad person. I must be, or my father would not have treated me as he did. That much I knew.

My plans for staying out of temptations way started to go awry as soon as the meeting of my superiors ended. "God," Rachel flung herself into her chair at the desk opposite mine. "I seriously need a drink after that!"

"Bad meeting?" I murmured, knowing that I would get the full lowdown, if I asked for it or not.

"Horrendous! I now have a doubled workload, and that means more for you Izzy! I cannot carry this load on my own!" Rachel was an Account Manager and a pretty good one when she stopped bitching about people and actually did some work, or passed most of it over to me. "I now have responsibility for not only Covent Garden Times, but also De Vere Hotels. You can imagine which one is more important to me?"

"Uh, Covent Garden Times?" I decided to go for the teasing approach, after all a free local rag handed out to tourists was not the same as one of the largest hotel groups in the world, with a huge presence in Britain. The teasing worked and she shot me a sarcastic smile.

"So you can understand why I need you to take on most of the responsibility on this one. There is a monthly meeting of the trustees which is worth going to and they also like company input on design and layout of the paper, which is a fag, but doesn't take up too much time. And besides, it means you get tickets to all the do's which go on, which reminds me that in two months time, opera in the square – now that is the highlight of the year for them, so they will get stressed with it!"

I waved a hand to silence her, for she was dragging on the conversation, most of which I knew anyway. I was more perturbed by the fact that when I trying to avoid the place it came and landed straight on my desk, a potent reminder. "Anyway, let's go for that drink," she continued.

"I, I can't.." I started to make excuses, muttering vaguely about meeting Nigel and abstaining from alcohol, all of which she ignored, batting them away with her hand as if they were annoying flies.

"Nigel knows where to find you and you barely had a drink yesterday so a small glass of wine won't hurt you, or make it a G and T, lot less calories in spirits you know! Come on, the others can catch us up."

Nope definitely no wild horses when I needed them.


	4. Chapter 4

**I hope that you enjoy this Chapter, maybe things are staring to look a little up, maybe not. "Oh what a tangled web we weave, when at first we practice to decieve!" Sir Walter Scott had it right - Izzy should listen to him.**

Chapter Four

I protested all the way along the road, flinging excuse after excuse at my colleague, trying to stay away from the bar, the shops, the whole godamn place. Finally it was my pathetic hobbling that broke her and she pulled me into the Marks & Spencer on the corner to make me buy some flip-flops so that I could at least walk properly.

"Why don't you want to go Iz?" she asked in confusion as I queued up to pay. "Not like you to turn down a drink."

"I told you, I'm just not in the mood. I am trying not to drink and yes, I can watch what I am doing, but Nige will come and it will turn into a party and before you know it I will be stumbling home drunk at ten in the evening again."

"Humph," her reply was sarcastic. "Won't be a party if Nigel turns up!" She caught the look on my face and gasped at her faux pas. "Oh shit, I didn't mean to say that," she clapped her hands over her mouth as if she could stop more words from escaping. "Izzy, I'm really sorry, I just.." I think it was the first time I had seen her look embarrassed, for usually Rachel was as cool as ice.

I shot her a little smile to sympathise. "He can be a bit of an old fart sometimes," I sighed, letting her off the hook, not in the mood to play with the leash she had handed me. In my current mood I could not think about his good points and could only agree with her negative comment.

Slipping my tight sweaty shoes off and putting on the flip-flops I moved out the store, suddenly wondering if I should confide in Rachel, now that she had shown her true colours. It is not as if she would go blabbing back to Nigel. Linking arms with her I strode free, once again able to walk. "All right, one drink then!" I laughed slightly, outwardly at the pleasant evening and inwardly at my pathetic resistance. I was very easy to break.

We strode down the street arm in arm, looking like no more then two girls out for a drink on a pleasant summer evening. I couldn't help glancing in every direction, fearing that every unusually dressed person would be Richard, that he would spot me and know that I was here, that he had won. Thankfully we managed to get to the Apple Market unscathed and I put my lying into action.

"Rach, order a G&T for me, I'm out of cash, just need to go get some." I jerked my finger behind me pointing vaguely in the direction of the only cash machine for streets around. She nodded her consent and I had to stop myself running off and escaping. I knew that if I got upstairs in the pub, got into conversation with a drink in hand, it would be impossible to leave and an untimely departure would simply raise questioning, especially if Nigel were there.

But to not have necessary funds to pay for said drink – now that was a perfect excuse, not that I ever had much cash on me, but it still worked. I had about a twenty minute window and if he was not outside the Jubilee Halls now, then there was no way I would see him that evening. I speed walked around the outside of the building, across the cobbles to the back entrance of the Apple Market and sat down on the stone steps.

This was not such a good pitch, there were fewer shops this side and except for the gaudy stalls in Jubilee Halls peddling cheap silver jewellery; badly dyed t-shirts and worthless knickknacks, the shops were scarce meaning the flow of tourists was not so great. Therefore it was less preferred for busking to try and make money. I let out a deep side and waited.

"You came!" Five minutes later my head snapped up at the words. I had been so lost in thought that I had forgotten to keep lookout for my masked friend and now he was standing over me, his tall form throwing my seat into shadow. I couldn't help but hear the eagerness in his voice. "I really honestly didn't think you would!"

"Based on what you know about me, or what you assumed you know about me?" The tart reply fell from my lips.

"As assumption is the mother of all fuck ups and you just tore a strip off me; the later I would think," his reply carried a note of apology, his way of saying he had judged me, based on my previous performance.

I looked up and took him in my gaze. He was dressed as he was the night before, in the sartorial over the top costume, stolen and based upon the character from the Phantom movie. This close I could appreciate it a lot more. The trousers were red velvet and tight, I could see the muscular build of his thigh through the fabric. The coat looked like a parody of a military jacket that was fashionable last winter, bedecked in gold braid and frogging with fringed lapels. And his legs, long legs that I didn't appreciate before, continued down into shiny black boots, old riding boots from the look of it. The gloved hand I took that helped me to rise from my perch was soft and smooth, the hand beneath it strong and....I had to give myself a hard mental shake and slap. This was not a romantic novel; this was not some young buck coming to rescue me from my miserable life with his fortune of many thousands a year. This was a busker who made his money by dressing up and playing a violin.

"I promised," I said hopping that I avoided letting the note of bitterness that this was not a fairy tale creep into my voice. "But, my colleagues are waiting for me so I can't stay, I just wanted to see you again and apologise." Suddenly my voice was very small. I hadn't come to apologise, but suddenly deep down inside me, my true self escaped and I was embarrassed with my rudeness at lunch.

A small smile crept out underneath the freaky mask, the blacked eyes shining blue. "That's okay Izzy," he said holding my hand and giving it a squeeze. "No offence taken, I put you in an awkward position and I was just as rude." His words were all carried with his soft lilt and it dripped through me, he could have just easily been swearing at me rather then apologising, I would still have loved the sound of his voice. "I had better let you go."

"Are you here tomorrow?" The words tumbled out before I had a chance to stop them. So much for being Miss cool calm and collected.

"No, I have classes tomorrow. Tell you what, are you free Saturday evening?" I nodded knowing that any plans I might have had were now cancelled. "Some friends and I are playing down The Bull and Gate in Kentish Town if you want to come and watch." I raised my eyebrow in amazement, for the pub he mentioned was a well known place for music groups and to get a gig on a Saturday night meant they must have some talent.

"Okay," I verbalised my consent, wondering if Mags was working or if I could drag her along. I flashed him a smile and gestured towards the cobbles. "You'd better go and play; otherwise you might be arrested for looking like that! And I had better get back." He grinned in reply, for once our exchange of words positive and uplifting and I basked in it's warmth before turning to walk away. I hadn't got far when a noise came from behind.

"Hey Izzy," the yell ricocheted off the buildings and I turned to look at Richard shouting at me, pointing with his violin bow towards my feet. "Like the shoes!"

The spring in my step carried me all the way back around the building, as I strode along, a dappy little smile on my face; like some fool in love. We had hardly exchange fifty words, but I could not help but feel positive about the upcoming evening. He had been so polite, thoughtful, quite the opposite of the sarcastic surly man I had taken to lunch.

Suddenly I remembered his comment about classes and I suddenly wondered if I had misjudged him, in the same way he had me. I of all people should know that appearance can be deceptive. Maybe he was actually a struggling student, simply busking to earn a bit to supplement his income. I used to have friends who did all sorts of jobs to increase their pathetic student grants, if he was talented why not busk? I was so deeply caught in thought that I walked straight into someone, not looking where I was going. "Opff," I grunted at the impact.

"Isabelle?" Two firm strong hands held onto my arms and I looked up into a face that held the sternness of a parent, except it wasn't. It was Nigel. "Where have you been? Rachel said you went to get money out, but you've been gone fifteen minutes. What have you been doing? Come along."

His parental lecture should have riled me but instead it dampened my spirit and I ended up obeying him like a willing dog and trotted after him back towards Long Acre. "Sorry darling, the machine was out of cash, so I had to go down to The Strand." He accepted my excuse with a sigh and stopped to hand me a plastic bag containing my shoes, which I realise I must have left with Rachel.

"It's a good thing I came looking for you, I tried calling a couple of times, but you never have your blasted phone switched on. Did you forget that we were due to go out with Tom this evening?" I hid a groan, thinking of Nigel's pompous colleague whose wife had just left him; not surprised really as he was frightfully boring. Supposedly I cheered him up, but he was just leaching after me, past experience could tell.

But Nigel thought I was a nice little girlfriend and so I could only gasp an apology and roll my eyes in innocence, an unconvincing performance if ever I had acted one. Thankfully he was taken in by it and chuckled indulgently. "Izzy," he said in a tone that made me want to whack him over the head with my shoes. "You are forgetful. Still, Tom will be pleased to see you; I've booked us a table at Quo Vardis!" He said the name with a flourish as if I should be honoured to be eating at such a fine and trendy restaurant. Inwardly I groaned and thought of my days flipping burgers in a fast food restaurant. He had no idea who I was at all!

Without a backward look he took my arms in his and led me away from my dangerous infatuation and back to the safe world in inhabited and I had tried to convince myself I wanted as well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hope you are enjoying this so far. Sorry updates are rather erratic, I am creeping in to the study and typing late at night when people are asleep. So come on read and please review - don't leave it to my 3 three faithful reviewers - you know who you - thank you for your kind comments!**

Chapter Five

It was a real dive! As soon as we entered through the battered and scarred wooden doors, my nose was assaulted with the mingled scent of sweat and stale beer. What seemed like hundreds of bodies were packed in to a relatively small room. I didn't know much about the evening, or the venue beyond the fact that there were going to be three if not four bands playing tonight.

I had no clue as to the name of Ric's band or to the time they were on stage and suddenly I was very glad I had bought Mags along for company; even if earlier I had regrets. It was probably because she turned up at my dingy little flat looking absolutely terrific.

She had an inner glowing vivacity that seem to light her up from the inside and it helped that she was whippet thin from all the dancing and had long wavy blonde hair halfway down her back. The overall image was highlighted by a pair of skinny jeans, so tight that they looked painted on, an old rock t-shirt (which on further inspection had been stolen from my wardrobe) and an indecently high-heeled pair of boots.

She had scorned my remarks of how fantastic she had looked, got to work on my face with makeup and half an hour later I had to admit, I too looked more the part. Gone were any traces of Isabella the nice PR girl or even the burger flipping tour guide, now I was more rock chick and I looked (I hoped) like something Ric would appreciate.

I shook my head at the thought – shit, I was acting like a besotted schoolgirl wanting to be a groupie. Actually I suppose I was somewhat smitten. After the lies I had to tell Nigel in order to have an evening free, I realised I should simply acknowledge those inner feelings. I wanted to get to know this guy and see what he was like, find out more about him. Maybe it was the fact that he was the polar opposite to the life I was leading and the man I called a boyfriend. Possibly the fact that my true self was coming out to play, fed up of being hid behind its respectable facade. Whatever the reason, I hoped that this night would hold a key.

A pint of beer was unceremoniously thrust into my hand and in a state of nervous thirst I gulped down a good third. "They're on second," she shouted into my ear above the din of the crowd, holding up two fingers for good measure. "The band's called ''_Cluinn_," she pulled a face at the strange name and took a swig of her drink. "Apparently they have created quite a stir recently.

"How did you find this all out? You only went to get drinks!" I shouted back at her, hoping that her lips reading skills were good. The first group had come on and with the din of the sound checks it became impossible to hear. She simply shrugged in reply and gave her killer watt smile. Yeah, shouldn't have bothered asking.

The first group were good, very good actually and I could tell that there were people in the crowd who were impressed with their performance. A mixture of classic pop, a few guitar solos thrown in with a bit of piano, the only trouble was they reminded me of several already popular chart topping bands.

Still their held the audience for forty minutes, no mean feat considering we were not all avid fans hanging on their every note. The room was crowded; the air conditioning working overtime to try and keep a degree of coolness in the enclosed space and it was five deep at the bar. Not the way I usually chose to spend my Saturday nights.

So I pushed my way to the front, ordered another couple of beers and waited for the MC to announce them. It seemed like forever, but the wolf whistles and cheering that marked their entrance showed that I wasn't the only one waiting for them.

He strode straight to the front, another incarnation of the man I wanted to know. No longer the mocking Phantom of the Opera, goodbye to the scruffy busker, hello rock man! I resisted the urge to whistle through my fingers (can be a useful party trick) and instead forced myself to stand back and watch and listen. Mags had no such compunction and pushed straight to the front, determined to be a groupie!

He was wearing tight black jeans and if I had thought the velvet trousers had shown off a good physique, denim was even better. His sleeveless t-shirt showed off muscled arms and his hair which I had only seen slicked back; now hung around his face, the only thing ruining the whole appearance was a black mask on his face, although this time it ran down the middle of his face, so that in the light of the room his face appeared eerily bisected.

"What is it with these stupid masks" I muttered to myself and my drink as we were the only ones able to hear anything. The band had struck up with powerful guitar riffs, chasing away the cobwebs of the earlier group and it was obvious their style was about as opposite as it could get. This was down to earth rock, heavy but catchy enough to appeal to a wider audience. I found myself dancing to the pounding of the guitars and drums unconsciously; the rhythm so catching.

Draining another skiff, I put the plastic glass down on the sticky bar and pushed my way to the front of the crowd where Mags was moshing away, her blonde locks flying and looking every inch the rock chick that I knew she wasn't. We slung our arms around each other shoulders and with a wide grin on our faces beat our heads in time with the beat, jumping up and down and embracing the whole spirit of the music.

The song ground to a halt and we threw our arms in the air cheering as if we were in a packed stadium and not some small hall at the back of the pub. Ric slapped the hands that were being held out, engaging himself with the enthusiastic audience, smiling like I had never seem him smile and then our eyes met!

At once his face dropped into formality and with one hand he pushed sweaty hair off his face, a hesitant smile once again reappearing at the corner of his mouth. He bent down and took a swig of water from the bottle at the side of the stage, his eyes never leaving mine, except to flick across to Mags who still had her arms locked around me, before landing once again on my face; a raised eyebrow asking the question about my companion.

He moved towards the microphone and with a quick glance back at the rest of the band launched into a rough moving love song. I had witnessed the skill he had on the guitar, but had never heard him sing and the softer ballad highlighted his smooth tenor. There was power in his voice and he knew how to use it, not belting into the microphone as an inexperienced singer would. As the words flowed out of his mouth his gaze rarely left my face and I found myself believing that the song had been written for me. Powerful stuff indeed.

Yet the moment of open intimacy was drowned as the band swiftly moved into their final piece, with a whine of guitars and the pounding on the cymbals, once again working the crowd into frenzy. It seemed as if all the people in the room were of one accord as we danced and cheered to the music the band played. And when the final electronic chord reverberated around the room the cheering broke like a tidal wave. Felt sorry for whatever act had to follow them!

With a brief thank you they trudged off the small stage and I was left in a panic, wanting to be an adoring fan and throw my arms around the lead singer. Mags took it all in with a knowing look and without comment dragged me off to the bar and pushed another pint into my hand.

"Hey!" I was once again caught at a disadvantage as the words crept into my ear and as I whipped my head around to take a look at the speaker the room starting spinning alarmingly. I think I made introductions, I possibly explained the relationship between Mags and I and I could have even complemented the speaker on the excellent performance he had just given. The only trouble was that by then the five pints of alcohol that I had consumed decided to take over my brain, body and stomach and I really really don't remember anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry it's been so long since updating. Had a few horribly busy days that have left me exhausted. But they are over now and I am sitting staring out at the snow (yes snow, in the south of England in November!) and writing. Please review, it would be nice to know several people are reading this. But my thanks must go mainly to my three faithful reviewers - your kind comments keep me writing. Pips**

Chapter Six

I can't really say that I woke, more regained consciousness. My head felt as if someone had cleaved my skull in half with an axe, there was at least a year's worth of wool growing inside my mouth and my stomach was doing flips of protest trying to digest the beer from last night. Added to my sorry state, I really really needed the loo, the only trouble was that I wasn't quite sure where I was!

Concentrating exceedingly hard, making my brain ache and spin in protest I could summon vague memories of another pint, my arm slung around a man's shoulder and a very bumpy trip in a van, then some soft words and falling asleep in the bed I was now lying in. But to be honest the finer points were somewhat hazy.

Trying to remain horizontal for as long as possible I stuck one leg out from under the covers, searching for the floor with my foot. It made contact and I slid out, staggering slightly as the full weight of my hangover came to rest. It was a pathetic figure, stumbling across the room to the door, pulling it open and looking around in confusion for the bathroom and I was glad that no one was there to witness my humiliation.

Thankfully the open door to it was opposite me, for I could not have coped with anything more complicated in my fragile state. Seeking refuge and locking entry against anyone who might try, I sat down and tried to harness my thoughts more accurately. A man, music, he was singing to me I think – possibly? Or it could have been that in the absence of memories my brain was filling in with any spare plotline it could. Right now, it seemed to be choosing the Phantom of the Opera and the opening riffs crashed into my brain, causing it to hurt again.

I peered into the mirror, recoiling at the slitty narrow eyes in a pale face that starred back at me. I obviously hadn't removed the elaborate makeup that Mags had applied last night and it had taken a southward trip on my face, so my eyes sat in black holes of kohl, lipstick smeared around my mouth. Despite my headache, vanity won the day and I tried to repair myself as much as one could with water and soap.

This was obviously a male household, no makeup remover, cold creams or anything remotely attached to a woman's beauty routine. However my search did find a packet of paracetomal and I gratefully swallowed two; chased with water from the tooth mug before stumbling back to the safety of the bed I had just left.

I can't say how long I lay there, maybe a few minutes, maybe almost an hour but by infinitesimal degrees I started to feel more human, hydration having been slightly restored to my body. As my headache reduced from splitting to simply sore, I was able to prop myself up on pillows and have a look at my surroundings.

It was a simple room, with basic furniture and decoration. A comfortable double bed (although let's face it I would probably have found a bed of nails comfortable in my current state) had been pushed into the corner of the room, sitting opposite a large chipboard desk, partner to a chest of drawers and a small wardrobe. It was ugly, practical furniture that suggested that this was not a room where the current occupant had chosen the decor.

The only clues afforded to me were a pile of books and files sitting on the desk with a computer and a guitar propped against the wall. It was the sight of the guitar that made me think I must have come back with someone from the band last night – at least I hoped I had and could only wish that it was Ric. Okay our relationship was fledgling, but at least I had spoken to him when I was sober.

As if my usually absent Fairy Godmother had heard my wish there was a light tap on the door and someone entered the room. I winced slightly as I tried to push myself up into a sitting position and look at whoever's bed I had shared for the night. I let out a small sigh of relief as I realised that it was my masked companion. He stood next to me, a smile gracing his lips, a cereal bowl clutched in one hand as he spooned cornflakes into his mouth.

"Glad to see you're awake!" The soft burr was a balm to my headache and I smiled dopily at my rescuer. "How d'you feel?" He spooned some more cornflakes into his mouth and I watched the movement up and down, suddenly realising how hungry I was – my meal last night had mainly been beer.

"Hungry!" My stomach added noise to my comment causing him to smile some more. "And very hungover," I added.

"Not surprised, you were in a bit of a state last night – how much did ya have to drink before we started?"

"Um three pints, no maybe four," I lied not wanting to seem like a horrendous alcoholic. I had to be careful with what I drunk for my past track record meant that too much made me exceedingly ill. Whilst I was not going to give up alcohol forever, moderation was usually the sensible way forward.

"Yeah, well it was closer to seven by the time you'd finished," Ric added, abandoning his bowl on top of the chest of drawers. "And Mags said you shouldn't be left by yourself, but couldn't take you home, hence the reason you're here!" He came and sat on the bed and reached out a large hand gently running it down the side of my face. "Don't worry virtue untouched!"

"Virtue un..., what do you?" The sentence fell from my lips unfinished as my wool filled head realised what he meant. "So you didn't sleep with me then?"

"Well, you were in a bit of a state, so I just hunkered down on the floor here, it seemed the more sensible option."

"Oh," I wasn't sure if I was upset or grateful at his gallant move. But the damage was done either way. I took a deep breath and looked at him properly sitting so close to me. He was big, the impression of size that I had always received from him was amplified by being in close proximity whilst in an enclosed space, but it was not a bulky largeness and he wasn't overly huge, just big enough to make a woman feel safe. In comparison to Nigel's rather pathetic five foot seven he was comfortably over six foot.

His hair was clean and neatly tied back in a short stubby ponytail, his skin clear and eyes bright, the only thing that ruined it for me was a flesh coloured mask on his face, the one he had been wearing when I first saw him. "What is it with that?" I growled, glowering at him, angry at myself for letting myself get in the situation I was in, uncertain, hungry and feeling ill.

He glanced around the room as if trying to ascertain what I was talking about, before he looked back at me and saw where my gaze rested. I couldn't say that he reacted, I didn't see him march out the room or feel him react in any physical way, but there seemed to be a drawing in of the very air around him, the temperature of our intimacy dropping by a degree or two.

"Let's just say there is a rather long story behind it and not one you want to hear right now." His voice was calm and collected with a dismissive tone that let me know the subject matter was very firmly closed and out of bounds. He might as well have waved a red rag to a bull.

"How do you know," I asked, feeling well enough to be affronted. "That's the sort of reply you would give to a child and I'm not one."

"No? The way you were behaving last night I would be hard pressed to tell the difference." I couldn't ignore the taunt in his comment. It seemed we were back on usual ground with our point scoring, the temporary truce over.

"I was drunk! I am sure you've been yourself many a time! And off your face on drugs no doubt!" Casting slurs – very grownup!

"Oh aye, you're correct on both counts, but I wasn't the one with my head over the toilet last night, put it that way. You were a mess Izzy and you still are, so just forget about it. I will run you a nice bath, you can have some breakfast and then I will take you home. Okay?" I ground my teeth, but he took it as a sign of accord and rose from the bed, his lips set in a grim line. "Do you want the full Scottish, or just a bowl of cereal?"

"What?" The lightening change of topic left me reeling, my head at least ten minutes behind in conversation, still too worked up with his comment about me being childish. It took me a while to realise what he was talking about.

"Breakfast?" He prompted more gently, realising that my sparring recovery was only temporary. "Nothing like a good Scotch fry-up to get you going."

"Oh, yeah, that sounds nice." I paused. "I won't have to drink whisky with it will I?" He threw his head back and laughed at my pathetic comment.

"Not unless you want to do hair of the dog, but I think it might be your undoing!" His humour vibrated in the air as he left the room and moments later I heard the sound of water running into the bath and the scent of something sweet filling the air. Bath. My brain accepted agreed to the thought of soaking in warm bubbles, easing the aching in my body and I once again eased myself gingerly out of bed.

It was a heavenly bath, warm and deep and I wallowed in it, half dozing, letting the steam ease my headache and poor body. I had obviously been very sick last night and wasn't surprised that Ric chose to sleep on the floor rather then in bed with me – why risk the chance of being puked on? God how pathetic was I?

And then there was the mask! That awful blank surface that hid such a deep complex character. Like a child, the simple fact that he refused to tell me why he wore it made me want to find out even more and I was ready to throw a foot stamping tantrum to find out. The rational side of my brain stirred and woke slightly, putting in an argument that I had no right to find out what Ric was hiding, especially if he didn't want to show me. I chose to ignore the sensible option.

Feeling refreshed in mind and spirit, if not body I clambered out the tub, wrapping a threadbare but clean towel around myself and headed back to the relative sanctuary of my rescuers bedroom. And then I stopped dead – I could see no clothes to wear, not even sure what had happened to them. I had woken up in a big t-shirt, obviously not mine and my pants, but couldn't remain like that forever. I needed trousers, a top – shoes! Tightening my grip on the towel I ventured out again, looking for something to wear or at least Ric to lend me something.

The house seemed deserted and silent, either everyone was asleep or we were alone. The landing upstairs was dark, two other shut doors blocking out light and the brown carpet on the stairs did not relieve the situation. I crept down feeling embarrassed and out of place, suddenly realising that I was very lucky that at least I had someone kind looking after me – I could have been in anyone's house.

He was in the kitchen, reading a paper laid out on the table and keeping half an eye on a frying pan of meat, whilst drinking a cup of tea. The smell wafting out made my stomach rumble and the noise must have been enough to disturb him as he looked up.

"Um, I wasn't sure where my clothes are?" I muttered, cheeks going red at his scrutiny. He held me in his gaze, studying me and I could almost fancy that he had x-ray vision and could see through my towel, so unblinking was his stare.

"Oh, I put them in the wash for you last night, you spilt beer on them," he said matter of factly.

"Thanks," I started, glad that was the reason.

"And puked up all over your t-shirt as well." He added with a wicked smile. "They should be dry now!" He stood and gathered an armful of clothes from off the radiator behind him, dumping them in my arms. I simply wanted to curl up and hide. Bad enough that I should be this ill after a night out, even worse that the man who I wanted to throw myself was so sensible and practical to boot. His calm manner made me feel fifteen again.

I turned silently, unable to even form the words of thanks I should pass on, my fighting spirit deflated. I must have been a stupid pathetic sight last night, a pathetic drunk ill sight! I might as well kiss goodbye any chance of anything with Ric, why would he want to get to know me now?

"Hey cheer up Izzy," the voice came from behind me and I looked over my shoulder to see him watching me, a grin on his face. He paused before adding. "I only fall for women who throw up in my lap!"

"Humph!" was my reply and I stomped off upstairs, rather hard in bare feet on carpet to go and get dressed. I fumbled and fiddled my way into my clothes and then collapsed back onto the bed, not wanting to go back down and see my companion, feeling wrong footed and out of sorts. I hated the fact that he had the upper hand, loathed the fact that he made me feel and behave so childishly.

"Breakfast," the yell carried upstairs, except I ignored it, determined to carry on sulking, even though my stomach was protesting loudly, delicious smells wafting up the stairs. I ignored his second and third call, my will hardening and my conscious diminishing with each minute I didn't go down.

Finally I heard him climb the stairs, the rail squeaking slightly as he trod the boards. "Izzy," he leant in around the door. "Don't you want some breakfast, I thought you were hungry."

"Hmm?" I looked up pretending to be absorbed in staring at the wall.

"Are you feeling okay, don't you want breakfast?" Concern marked his voice and he came into the room, sitting down on the bed again. "It's getting cold!"

"Mmm," another non-committal sound from me as I sat up, but before he could open his mouth or move, I decided to level the playing field between us. He made me feel stupid and pathetic; well I could do the same. And reaching over, I pulled off his mask.


	7. Chapter 7

**It would seem a week is about the best I can do with writing this story. At least it lets me really review it and mull over potential scenarios and I know some of you are hoping for more confrontation then this. Sorry. Thank you my 3 faithfuls and to everyone else reading please please please also let me know your thoughts! Pips**

Chapter Seven

Time is not a constant, it not a perfect tick of the second hand counting down the minutes and hours. Instead it speeds up and slows down, light speed and snails pace come and go in waves highlighting certain occasions and letting others whip by in a blur. Time was not blurring for me at the moment.

It was almost like slow motion. He threw his hand up across his face and turned from me with a cry; so that I was unable to witness what it was I had wanted to see. It was the cry that filled me with remorse, shame and anger. There was anger at myself for being such a vain child and anger at him for trusting me, putting me in a position as an equal. I knew I did not deserve such trust and had therefore betrayed it at the first opportunity.

I expected a temper, shouting, possibly even tears as I sat there with the moulded plastic in my hand, it's empty eye holes staring up at me; the curve of the brow moulded into the design; reproachful. Instead after that wounding, almost mournful cry there was silence, the slam of a door and when I dared to sneak a glance saw that he had simply replaced one mask for another. He stood hands on hips staring down at me, his hair released from the ponytail so that a lock hung over his face. It was the black mask and its seething appearance highlighted the disgust in his eyes as he looked at me.

I opened my mouth ready to argue, plead and beg, promise to be a good girl and claim it was not my fault, to try and appease the wave of anger that would surely bear down on me. That was the way it had been with my Father, that was the way of the world. Therefore I nearly fell over when he simply said three words to me, for it was not what I had been expecting to hear.

"Breakfast is ready." Oh, the words were simple enough, but the tone showed all the disgust he felt with my person. The invitation uttered with a sneer he turned on his socked foot and left the room.

I sat there for a moment, the useless masked clutched in my lifeless hand, frantically weighing up my options. I had achieved nothing with my actions and probably had lost a lot, the question was should I try and brazen it out or should I try and run and hide from my actions.

To go downstairs and see that look of sheer...disappointment in Ric's eyes would be more then I could bear, however to run, to try and find my way home – I had no idea where I was, how to get home – even how much money I had left.

Sniffing loudly and backhanding some errant tears from my eyes I stood up and wandered over to the desk, placing the mask on top of a large lever arch file that sat there, bulging with notes. My eye was drawn to a letter sticking out of the top, the official address partially evident. If it was officially written, then it would be officially addressed and I might have a clue where I was.

With a beating heart, scared that Ric might return I plucked the paper out with my fingertips, holding it in front of me and scanning the address. It was official university headed paper from King's College, London; the letter commenting about a recent paper he had written for his Child Studies MA. It made me blink – doing a MA at one of the top London College's! I had him down as an uneducated busker and at one stage nearly accused him of being a thief – it would seem that I was rather off the mark. What was a talented musician and lead singer of a rock band doing studying for an MA? The frown on my forehead deepened as I opened the file and flicked through the notes – attempting to assimilate what I knew about the man, what I had assumed and what I was learning for they as seemed to be at odds with one another.

However although my discovery answered more questions then they opened up I did have one fact at my fingertips. I was in a house somewhere in Dalston, E8! If I could get to the tube then I could find my way home. My heart beating heavily I returned the letter to the file with trembling hands, pressing a kiss to my fingertips and pressing them against it, trying to leave my love for this strange enigmatic man. He didn't deserve someone like me, someone he couldn't even trust.

Shaking terribly from my hangover and nerves I tiptoed downstairs fearing that every squeak of the floor boards would give away my escape. Opening the door as silently as I could I closed it behind me and gazed up and down the street searching for any indication of the way I should go or someone I could ask.

It was empty, deserted due to the usual Sunday morning lie in, the cars tightly parked against the curb and only an empty cigarette packet blowing down the street. It looked as desolate as I felt, but I had chosen my path. With a heavily beating heart and shaking legs I turned left and started to walk down the street.

It took me forty minutes and several wrong turns to find my way to the overland train station, my feet aching from the high heeled boots I was wearing. I was starving hungry; realising that apart from my railcard I did not seem to have any money left from yesterday evening and had removed prudently removed my cards from my wallet before going out last night. As a typical Sunday dictated the trains were running with heavy delays and I sat on the platform shivering, waiting for it to arrive.

My actions kept churning over and over in my mind, like some badly made B-movie fixed on a loop to torment. Why had I chosen to pull Ric's mask off? Why? It was the stupid Izzy, the one that drove her Father away that had surfaced, determined to pull everyone down to her level; to the pit in which she lived and wanted to drag everyone else into.

Tears started to stream down my face as I berated myself. Stupid Izzy, silly stupid girl. This was the child whose father could not bear to be with her, who dumped her with some distant friends, rather then let her get in the way of his life. This was the teenager who couldn't stay at university, who found it easier to deaden the pain with drink; rather then seek help. This was the woman who purposefully chose undemanding jobs that were mentally beneath her, quitting as soon as they got too boring or demanding, so that she would not have to challenge her comfortable cocoon of numbness.

For a brief moment I had believed that I might have found someone to help me climb out of the hole I had dug for myself, but once again I had screwed it up with my childish ways.

The train finally rattled into the station and I whipped my face and got on, slumping in the seat and staring dully at the uninspiring vista of the platform. The doors beeped and shut and it drew out of the station, away from my current mistake.

All in all, it took my over two hours to get home and all I could do was pull boots off my aching feet, change my clothes for pyjamas and climb into bed, pulling the covers up and falling into an unrestful sleep, bizarre dreams haunting me of deformed faces and masks floating in front of my eyes.

The persistent ringing of my mobile finally pulled me from my haunted dreams and I leant out of my bed, throwing clothes aside to try and find it before flopping back on the pillows with a rusty "Hello?"

"Izzy? Thank god you are back. How are you feeling? Have you had a good day? What was going on between you two?" My friend's breathless voice babbled down the line.

"What?" I heard a slight snort of laughter from Mags.

"Oh, had that sort of day have you? Lucky you! I tried calling but there was no reply so thought you might be busy." The last word was loaded with innuendo.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." I ran a hand through my heavy sweat soaked hair."

"Stop being so coy – I mean you're dear masked man Iz, the one whose arms you fell into last night!" The words bubbled over the line with laughter. "Don't you remember then?"

"No, oh shit!" I could now add total clumsiness to my list of failures.

"Well you were rather drunk you know, but he was so sweet and said I didn't have to worry, he would look after you, 'cause you know I have Neve visiting so didn't want to bring you home last night upchucking everywhere and." She stopped in mid flow. "Where are you now?"

"At home in bed! Alone," I added before she could infer anything else from what I hadn't said. "Nothing has happened, nothing in that sense anyway."

"Iz, you all right?" Mags voice suddenly became worried, motherly in tone as if she could pick up the vibes of misery that radiated off me.

"Yes, no, oh shit Mags, I have made a huge fuck up of things this time, really huge." And with a fresh wave of tears let her know in painstaking detail of all that I had done that morning. Bless her, she didn't comment, didn't judge but listened asking only the most basic of questions as a good friend would. At the end of my monologue there was silence. "Mags?" I said warily.

"Oh shit, I don't know Iz. Listen, just sit tight and I'm coming over. This is a crisis and you don't need to be alone at this time, so hold on.

"Okay," I whispered down the phone, my heart lightened to know that I had such a wonderful person looking out for me. "I'll see you soon." I ended the call and chucked the handset onto my covers, lying back against the pillows with a thump. My head ached from crying and my voice was hoarse. I desperately needed a cup of tea, something to eat and a warm bath. Wash my hair, settle down and re-evaluate what had gone on and why I was so cut up about it. Mags would talk me through, talk me down and make me sense. Distance from the subject would help evaluation.

And then the doorbell rang!


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry this has taken so long to post - time is running out, even more so as Christmas approaches. Hope you enjoy this! Pips**

Chapter 8

I froze at the simple sound of the buzzer interrupting my downward spiral of depression. The adrenalin rush through my body was instant and almost painful in its intensity, setting every nerve in my body tingling in echo with the chime.

The sound heralded again and I moved towards the door, desperate to let the person in and scared at the same time. It was Ric; I knew it was, could feel with every fibre of my being. After all who else would come calling mid-afternoon on a Sunday?

I flung the door open, unsure if I should wear a smile of encouragement or a hangdog expression of penitence. Either way I was in the situation of power here, he had come looking for me. "Hello," I said with a grand gesture and froze, my hand poised somewhere near my head at a slightly ridiculous angle as I had intended to sweep it forward in admittance.

"Hello Isabelle." The cool calm tones of my boyfriend answered back and I stood there unable to utter another word as I had rather forgotten about his presence in my life. I was so caught up with my feelings for the strange masked man whose acquaintance I had made over the past week that I had simply ignored my six month relationship with Nigel.

"Um, hello," the words finally fell from my mouth and I lowered my hand, fiddling with my hair slightly pretending that was what I had intended to do all along. "Come in." He passed by my and walked into my flat, looking around its somewhat messy and cluttered appearance. I couldn't avoid the slight wrinkling of the nose and the thinning of his lips that accompanied this, the gesture clearly speaking his disgust.

"You are a sight Isabelle, what did you do last night? I have been trying to get you all morning, have you been asleep?" He swivelled around to face me, his look raking me up and down as if his mere sight could repair my appearance.

"Well, um yes," I winced, running a hand through my greasy sweat soaked hair. "It was a very good night and well, rather over imbibed – got home in the wee hours, so um just switched my phone off and have been asleep ever since. Sorry!" I was amazed at how easily the lies rolled off my tongue and how my voice and manner had changed around him – this role playing was far too convincing.

"And as I couldn't get you on your phone I thought I would pop round and see if you wanted to go out for a walk, it's a lovely day and then maybe pick up a show on the way home, fantastic new production of Othello on at the Globe." I groaned slightly, it was so typical Nigel. He always had to do things so properly, eat in the right restaurants, see the right plays, and go to the right museums. I had loved it at first, being treated like such a princess, but now it was beginning to grate.

"Mmm Nigel, I'm not sure I am up for such an active evening," telling the truth for once, even though I saw his face fall. "But," I continued brightly with an eagerness I didn't actually feel, "why don't you make some tea and I'll jump in the shower and see how I feel then?" Either way I knew I would not be up for four hours of intense Shakespeare, that would take serious preparation – probably a frontal lobotomy before I would attend that!

"Oh okay," there was a sulkiness to his voice that he couldn't quite hide, even when I planted a chaste peck on his cheek and went towards my bedroom. Even there the paper thin partition that masqueraded for a wall let me hear how he slammed the kitchen cabinets, getting out mugs and tea.

Nigel rarely came to my flat, I think it's habitually cluttered and usually messy state offended his sense of order. His apartment was clean, ordered and soulless, it looked as if no lived in it, every cushion neatly aligned, everything put away or only out on display if it did not intrude. It didn't matter anyway for we had never stayed the night at each others abodes and the handful of times we had slept together had been severely disappointing. In my more desperate moments I wondered if he was not actually attracted to women.

Either way, I was not in a fit state to analyze Nigel, I had Mags coming over in about ten minutes and before his rude arrival I was close to plunging into a pit of despair. I suppose one good thing about his untimely appearance was that it had grounded me back in reality. After all a masked busker, singer with a Master's in Child Studies was not part of my everyday life.

Twenty minutes later I was showered and dressed, feeling a little more like the Izzy that people knew me as, the PR girl, the pleasant, non aggressive, happy Isabelle. Nigel and I sat on the sofa next to each other, not talking and not holding hands, just drinking our tea, although I couldn't notice how he kept shifting uncomfortably.

"Got ants in your pants?" I asked rather rudely, annoyed with this constant movement.

"Oh um no, I was just wondering, could I ask you something?" He looked at me with a boyish expression that set my alarm bells ringing. I simply nodded, unsure what his question might be. "Well you know Isabelle; we've now known each other for, well a while,"

"Six months," I added helpfully.

"Yes, six months and I was wondering if you um," I eyed him suspiciously not liking the tone of his voice. "Well, I was simply wondering how you; you know felt, about, me?"

"Um, why?" Yup the bells were ringing peals in my head at the moment.

"I just think we need to move forward." Oh shit, bells changing to atomic bomb panic signals now. I shifted away from him on the couch, genuinely scared of what his next suggestion was going to be. I wasn't in the correct mental state to cope with it. I was mentally composing my 'oh so kind' rejection of his proposal that I didn't pay attention to what he was saying next. "So you understand?" he finished.

"What?" I looked at him with shock, noting that his mood had changed slightly and whatever he had just imparted might not have been a proposal of marriage.

"I know it has probably come as a shock, but as I said it make sense for us to spend some time apart. The split doesn't have to be permanent, but let us say we should know our minds by the New Year."

"Wait, wait," I shook my head to ride it of the images of walking up the aisle in a white dress (or more likely running down it and out the doors). "You want to split up."

"I just feel that we're drifting," he replied solemnly looking at me. For no reason at all, tears started to well up in my eyes and run down my cheeks at the thought of him dumping me.

"Please Isabelle, don't cry, it's for the best," he said quite kindly for him. He leant across and clasped one of my hands in his. "Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but I think we need to explore pastures new." How typical to pepper his speech with quotes, even now he annoyed me, but I still couldn't help the emotion of his departure.

"I understand, I do," I said, nodding my head through the haze of tears. He reached up and tentively wiped them away with his hand, a pointless gesture as I didn't cry daintily.

"Goodbye Isabelle," he spoke gently and pressed a kiss to my forehead, standing and exiting quickly, leaving me once again alone and bawling my eyes out. I couldn't understand why I was crying, after all he tended to annoy me more then anything, but at least he was something I could call mine and there was little in my life that I could lay claim to.

The door to my flat opened again and Mags strode through the door, taking in my tear stained countenance. "Did I just see Nigel leaving?" she asked and I nodded, too clogged with emotion to reply.

"What did he do to make you cry? Or are they just tears of relief?" She had never minced her words about how she viewed my ex-boyfriend.

"He dumped me," I wailed on a fresh wave of tears, sniffing dramatically at the thought.

"Oh that's good," my best friend replied with her usual pragmatic approach. "He was such a wanker." Her comment forced a giggle from me and soon I could barely stop breath for the hysterical laughter that had me rolling around on the sofa. "You are a strange one Izzy, that's for sure," was her comment as she unpacked the bags she bought. "One minute you are suicidal over a man you've know for five minutes, next you're crying because the biggest arse in the whole world has dumped you. I don't want to know what's going on in that head of yours!"

"Neither do I Maggie," I replied sobering up. "Neither do I!"

* * *

Thankfully the fact that Nigel had dumped me did temporarily grant me 'dumpee' status and I was able to garner a certain degree of sympathy from my work colleagues. The fact that I was distracted, somewhat down and up in the air could all be attributed to my recent return to singledom. In truth it had nothing to do with Nigel, whose departure could not have been timelier. Mags and I had sat on my couch with a tub of Ben & Jerry's and analysed my reactions to the men in my life. Nigel had quickly been categorised as 'a waste of space', 'batting for the other side' and 'nothing more then the warm up act' (that was Mags opinion anyway).

The situation with regards to Ric was more complicated however and she just sat there shaking her head slowly. "I don't know Iz," was her final summary. "I fear you could have blown it, although the fact that he didn't tell you to fuck off then and there, could be your saving grace!"

With her sage comment in mind I wandered Covent Garden in vain, hoping that he might turn up, for it was the only place that I knew to find him. I had not been in a fit state to note the exact address of his house and become so lost finding the station that I didn't bear much hope in being able to retrace my steps. All in all, unless he came looking for me, I didn't think I had much chance of seeing him again.

"Have you checked out the band website," Mags suggested patiently during our now ritual evening phone call, when I poured out the miseries of my day to her. "It might say where they are next doing a gig."

"No website," was my grumpy reply. "Guess they aren't big enough. And they aren't going back to the Bull and Gate in the near future and they cannot give me any contact details." I had tried all routes.

"I'm sure they have a website," Mags cajoled, sensing my black mood down the telephone line. "How you spelling it?"

"How else but K-l-o-o-n," I spelt the letters out. "What other way can you spell it?"

"Actually try Cluinn," she replied calmly. "I think it might be Gaelic and you know they have a way of twisting the sound of words. I am sure it was spelt something like that when I saw it on the flyer."

I hung up on her with barely another word and sat on the couch, booting up my laptop and clicking on the Internet, my heart racing with the adrenalin of excitement. Typing in Mags suggested spelling I held my breath and clicked on the search again. The results popped up and I could barely dare look at them, until....My finger hovered over the link. Yes they did have a MySpace page! Maybe I could hunt him down.


	9. Chapter 9

**I am so so sorry that I haven't up loaded recently. Both my son and I were ill right before Christmas and then well the holidays with small children no not leave much free time! Apologies again that this chapter is so short, but I wanted to get something out for you to read and I won't have time again for a while, so will just have to leave you with a nasty cliff hanger. Have a great 2009 everyone! Pips**

Chapter 9

I became something of a website addict. Well not an overall addict maybe – just to one website. I visited at least three times a day, several times a week, hoping and praying for more information to be added to the frustratingly little that was there, for some new drop of knowledge to appear so that I could soak it up.

From the few paragraphs and photos that were available, I learnt that _Cluinn_ was Gaelic (clever Mags) and meant listen. There were four band members, Ric being lead singer and also second guitarist and just about anything else that needed to be played. The ten or so photos that were in a gallery showed the members of the band in various grainy styles, although in all of them he wore that dratted mask!

The few words gave no hint for his strange facial attire and I had not learnt anything from trying to rip it off, so was at a double loss of not knowing the reason for its presence and not knowing where Ric was. As the summer gave way to a lazy autumn and the bite of winter demanded new boots and an updated wardrobe, I still wandered Covent Garden every lunchtime, desperate that I might once again bump into him.

But the strange Phantom character had disappeared from view, no one knew where he was, no one seemed to know anything about him. And I was alone, very alone. Mags was busy working on a new show, the choreography keeping her busy day and night, so that our evenings of chatting were at an end. I began to realise why Nigel hadn't been so bad, what was so unattractive in the warmth of summer, became quite a comfort in the cold loneliness of autumn.

And so that was me, sitting on a bench as a cool wind scattered leaves against my knee length tan boots (their purchase had given me a temporary lift), morosely munching a sandwich and ruminating on what my life was speedily becoming. Chucking my wrapper in the bin, I then completed what I privately thought of as my 'circuit'. Down Wellington Street, left at Aldywch, along the Strand (past Kings College)and then back up Drury Lane and head for the offices.

It actually did me good to get out everyday and I had started to enjoy the fresh air and exercise. It made a difference from simply popping over the road for a sandwich. I had long given up any hope of a chance meeting and now enjoyed the sights and sounds of the traffic pouring over Waterloo Bridge, the huge Ferris wheel on the South Bank and the grandeur of Somerset House. On a couple of occasions I even popped in to see an exhibition or two, becoming familiar with the old building and was determined to come ice skating at the rink they set up in the winter.

But it was still autumn, although the cold breeze blowing in off the river had me turning the collar of my coat up, thrusting my hands deep in my pockets and entertaining thoughts of hats and scarves that could be purchased in the latest styles. I trudged the pavement, not truly looking where I was going and lost in thought with my latest style project when I bumped into someone.

"Oaf," the resulting impact winded me slightly and I looked up in surprise at the deep voiced curse that spilt out.

"Oh!" It was a less then dramatic remark, considering that of all the people I could bump into it was the man of my dreams and for a brief moment he looked less then pleased to see me, the scowl on his face highlighted by the stark black mask he wore on the other half.

He was dressed as I had never seen him before, all suited and booted in a pin stripped wool suit and coat. Very business like and very grown-up, not part of the figure that I worshipped in my head, instead this was a person with a strict and sensible agenda.

"Excuse me," the words were bitten out with a sarcastic clip of a Scots accent, before he focused on his attacker. "Isabelle?" The word held a degree of pleasured shock which I focused on. At least he hadn't ignored me, even though we were both at a disadvantage with our meeting point.

"Hi Ric," I smiled and added a stupid little wave, in case he didn't think I was immature enough. His face cracked into a smile that was at contrast to the formal way he was dressed and this new mask that I hadn't seen.

"How are you, what are you doing here?" He choked out and then glanced at my feet. "Can you walk in those boots?" Ah humour, it was still there, that teasing sarcastic humour is what I remembered most about our brief meetings before.

"Just out for my daily constitutional," I said as gaily as I didn't feel. It was awkward and cold standing in such an exposed area of pavement, the wind whipping across Waterloo Bridge. "Um, but, well, how are you?"

"Fine, just fine. Busy," he added almost as an after thought. "It's all just rather taken off and I haven't had a chance to take stock or anything." He shook his head as if I understood the statement he had just made. He had obviously forgotten that we hadn't known each other that well. "And I have to run now, so, do you have your number; can I call you?"

"Oh, yes." I pulled my business card out of my pocket, where I always stashed a few. "Here you go, that's my mobile number and well, if you can't get in touch with me, I am usually in the Punch and Judy after work!"

"Yes, of course!" He smiled again and dropped the card into his inside coat pocket. "I'd better run, it was nice to bump into you." And with that he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing frozen to the spot, not quite sure how he felt.

Distraction is a nasty little gnat that bites and buzzes and refuses to go away, so that I found it impossible to concentrate on even the most basic of tasks that afternoon. Watching the clock hands creep round did nothing to speed it up and I was left with thoughts circling around my head. What was he doing? Why was he dressed so smartly? Where has he been for the past two months?

When five thirty came, I was the first away from my desk and out the door, racing home to sit on the sofa and stare at my freshly charged, newly credited mobile. It sat on the coffee table, not ringing and I sat on the couch opposite, staring at it as if will power alone was enough to make him call.

By seven I was getting stiff, my neck ached and my stomach was rumbling. My hopes had started to plummet as the light faded and I was now convinced that the chance meeting had been my stressed brain supplementing reality with my dreams.

When the knock on the door came I had so thoroughly convinced myself that Ric had totally left my life that I had changed into my ratty pyjamas, cooked some smelly cheese on toast and settled down to watch re-runs of _Friends_ on TV.

His presence was so unexpected that I momentarily forgot to be the gracious welcoming hostess. "What are you doing here?" I demanded looking at the slightly dishevelled version of the man I had met earlier that day.

"I lost your card, so I couldn't call you and then I got caught up with some studying and lost track of the time. Aren't you even going to invite me in and offer me a cup of tea?" There was a begging note in his voice and he shot me such a hangdog look that I couldn't help but laugh.

"Tea, of course, take a seat. Do you want something to eat as well? I mean cheese on toast, nothing posh!"

"That sounds like sheer heaven. Tea, lots of sugar and a large amount of fat and carbs. You are a wonderful woman Izzy." I laughed again and watching him sit down, wandered into the narrow galley kitchen and put the kettle on. It was only as I stood there waiting for it to boil that the thought hit me and I marched straight out of the kitchen.

"How do you know where I live?" He had settled down and changed the channel on the television, such audacity! "How do you know where I live?" I repeated slowly as if he were stupid. He shot me a guilt ridden look and fiddled with his cuff links. "Richard!" His name came out as a headmistress like bark.

"Your friend Mags wrote it down for me that evening you were so out of it, in case I wanted to take you home." He finally admitted in a slightly petulant tone, his eyes pointing towards the screen, as if he didn't want to look at me. I closed my eyes in shock and slight revulsion as I thought of how I had foolishly been worshipping this man's image, or rather my image of him. He seemed slightly different now that he was on my turf.

"You knew where I lived," I started, trying to keep the tremble of emotional anger controlled in my voice. "You knew for the past two and a half months and you haven't bothered to stop by, say hello, find out how I was?" It was more then I could do and the tears started to rise in my eyes and run down my cheeks. "You Bastard," I spoke as forcefully as I could, but still calmly. "I have wanted to get in touch with you all this time and you could have made the first move for ages. You absolute bastard!"

With my piece spoken I turned and went into the kitchen, staring at the cup of tea I had started to make. Cyanide would be better then sugar the way I felt about him at that moment, but as it didn't tend to be a store cupboard ingredient I put sugar in instead, added milk and stirred the spoon angrily. Then I stared at it. What the hell was I doing? I swear at the man and then make him tea? How dysfunctional could I get?

"Izzy?" The deep voice sounded behind me and I turned staring at him with dry eyed wariness. "I'm, well I'm sorry. I didn't think you wanted to see me after well after." His hand went in embarrassment to his mask and I suddenly realised what he meant. I suppose my behaviour that day did not suggest that I was ready to fall at his feet. If I was feeling generous, I could possibly maybe see it from his point of view, although I wasn't feeling quite so ready.

"Touché," I muttered and held out the cup of tea as a peace treaty. "Guess we'd better talk!"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

He sat on the couch with a degree of casualness that irritated me, whilst I chose to perch on the chair opposite, wrapping my legs up against me, defensive in my position. Emotions surged and ebbed in my like the tides, anger, frustration and the all-important guilt! But I sat there dry eyed and stony faced, waiting for Richard to make the first move.

"So," he began, his hands clasped around the mug, leaning forward slightly so that he could look at me directly.

"So!" I repeated back, a frosty warning in my voice. It would seem that we were circling each other, neither willing to lunge in with the first move.

"It would seem that we have crossed wires here," he offered calmly; holding one hand out towards me, palm face up, his long fingers beckoning towards me. "I honestly thought you never wanted to see me again."

"Why?" I couldn't help the pleading note that echoed through my voice.

A look of shock flashed over the visible side of his face, possibly as awareness settled in. Obviously he had misinterpreted my actions, which I suppose was reasonable, if I were being generous. "Izzy, you ran away," his voice was strained. "You just upped and left, nay a word of goodbye, thanks, see you later. I thought you were pissed off with me good and proper."

"Me, pissed of with you?" My tone was incredulous.

"Aye, why else would you," he gestured to the covering on why side of his face before clearing this throat. "I was only teasing when I said you puked up in my lap y'know!"

I looked away in mortification, my cheeks staining red. That was the last thing that I needed to be reminded of. "It was just that," I mumbled into my shoulder, unable to meet that deep blue stare and admit the truth. He shook his head in confusion, unable or unwilling to see the situation from my point of view.

"You called me childish," I suddenly burst out, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. "You were so condescending and and _adult _about it all." I gathered breath. "From the very first moment I met you all that you've done is mock me and jeer at my ways as if I were a silly child and I'm not. I've had to grow up bloody fast and maybe my ways aren't the same as yours, but it doesn't mean that I'm stupid you know!" Tears really started to run down my face and I didn't cry prettily – more like a red faced pig sitting in the corner of the room. "So you know what, I wanted to show you how I felt, 'cept it didn't work did it?"

"Izzy." He stood up in concern, coming to crouch next to my chair, brushing the tears away with those delicate agile fingers, a thief's fingers; my mother would have called them. Unfortunately in my current state the thought of her made me break down again.

His hand moved to my hair, stroking the tousled locks, murmuring soft unintelligible words and moment by moment I started to feel calmer, until I could do no more then lean against his shoulder and sigh. Inhale the scent of man, of aftershave and sweat and maleness. If someone could bottle it, then they would be very rich for it was the most potent fragrance in the world.

"What did y'mean by having to grow up very fast?" he said once peace seemed to be restored. I sighed and nuzzled my head into his shoulder, unwilling to break the simple peace that he had offered me.

"Oh god, do we have to talk about this?" I was vulnerable at the moment, having opened the protective layer that I normally wore around me, trusting this strange man that I seemed to hate to love, love to hate; I wasn't sure anymore.

"No, we don't," his voice was deceptively casual. "But it might make you feel better. Confession, discussion, anything that involves talking usual has a degree of relief about it." His words were serious, but he kept his tone light. "Trust me."

Someone once told me that you should never trust a person who asks you to. At that moment I think I would have followed him to the end of the world if it was his request. I opened my mouth and began to speak.

"My mother was the most vibrant, beautiful person you could know. She was an actress and a singer, gained notoriety in a few small TV roles, although not really famous. My father was a hedge fund manager and like a moth to a flame, he was hooked. They married and it was a loving but volatile relationship. He didn't trust her, although she never ever was unfaithful, she told me that once. It didn't matter in the end. Breast cancer, that is what killed her and my father, so it turned out."

I paused and looked at him, tears running soundlessly from my eyes. He smiled gently and rose from his kneeling position, shifting me so that I sat in his lap like some oversized doll. The intimacy of this position and the comfort that it offered relaxed me once again and I continued.

"My father went to pieces after Mum's death. He had always been involved in his work, hey, it's a stressful job and it provided us with a good lifestyle, but suddenly he came so deeply involved. I barely saw him, he often didn't come home in the evenings, or if he did I had cooked supper and gone to bed. It was...." I shook my head, not able to find the words to describe the loneliness, the helplessness I had felt as a sixteen year old.

"I spoke to one of my teachers at school and I think she must have said something because the next thing I know my father dumps me with this friend of my mother's, saying I wasn't allowed to live alone. Anne was her name and Mags is her daughter. They were good to me, gave me the support and love I wasn't getting from my family. And they encouraged me to go to uni and they encouraged me to live me life and just when I was succeeding my father took it all away from me and I.... I....."

I couldn't go on. My emotions, so long buried came flooding back, as I thought back to that horrific day when I find out, when they placed the letter my father had written me. So full of the love he had been unable to express to my face.

"He took his own life?" Eric questioned with finality from above where I curled against his chest and I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. I felt his hand on my hair, heavy in weight, stroking my locks and was grateful for the comfort it offered.

"From then on, life seems to have no purpose and I can't find the energy or the will to see things through to the end. That require emotion and dedication Ric and I have neither anymore. It is much easier to stay numb you know. The two people I really loved were taken away from me. One for no fault of her own and the other because he was too selfish to admit that he was hurt. So I made a decision you see, I am not going to allow myself to be hurt, I am not going to make myself so vulnerable every again.

"Oh Izzy," the words came out almost like a sigh and I felt his lips briefly touch my head. I waited in silence for the shrink's analyse, to hear what he made of my life to reason out my actions. Surely that was what should now be done. "I think you need to go to bed. It's late."

He didn't wait for me to accept but stood up; holding me in his arms as if I weighed nothing and strode across the large room, stopping at my open bedroom door. "Right room?" I nodded at his query and he carried me in, gently placed me in bed and drew the covers up to my chin. Smoothing back my hair he pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Sleep well," he said softly and turned out the room.

I was so drained with emotion that I barely noticed his leaving, hardly heard the click of the front door as he left. But as I drifted off to sleep the nagging thought that I had told him everything and he had said barely a word could not be shaken off.

I still knew nothing about him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello! Wow, this story is staring to create some interest! Thank you for your kind reviews but always to my 3 faithfuls! I am sorry I have been mean in this chapter, not much Izzy and Ric, but I need to develop this story and flesh out some of the bones. I will try and update soon for it is fizzing away in my mind. Thanks for reading. Pips**

Chapter Eleven

I woke with a feeling of peace and contentment running through my entire body, humming away with positive energy. For the first time in - I could not remember how long, I felt satisfied; balanced. Cautiously poking at the boundaries of my happiness, I waited for the walls to come crashing down on me as they had done so often before, that this was only a temporary situation and stability simply an illusion. But no, they held up to a firm prod a rather heavy poke and even a thud of questioning.

The ability to tell the truth, to not feel that I had to pretend to be someone that I was not, was hugely refreshing. Telling people that your parents were dead was difficult enough, telling them that one had committed suicide was impossible. You could see the sympathy dry up slightly, the wave of kindness recede. Suicide was a selfish thing and its curse was long lasting for it marked the remaining family forever.

Ric had been the first person that I felt I could speak to. In a funny way it was made easier by his mask, for even though I still did not know what was beneath the surface, it still meant he was hiding something. I knew what it was like to conceal part of yourself and whilst I used the projection of an image, it was still a barrier I was hiding behind.

I moved about my morning routine, hair, makeup and clothes all in proper and in place, humming slightly to myself. My feeling of contentment lasted all the way to the bus stop when I suddenly realised one glaring fact. I still did not know where Ric lived, what his last name was and how to get in contact with him. It was all very well going about in a Disney like dream, singing to the birds and the flowers, but my prince was not about to come and he was damn good at wiggling out of explaining anything.

I immediately checked my mobile in a panic, making sure that it was switched on and charged, before remembering that he had lost my number –no hope there. So I could either hope that I would bump into him again (doubtful – lightning never strikes in the same spot twice) or wish that he might choose to swing by my flat again.

The thought that I might waste my evenings waiting for him to visit me immediately raised my hackles and I ground my teeth slightly at the arrogance of the gesture. It seemed that he was bound to annoy me as much as he pleased me. I must have startled my fellow passengers for I received a few doubtful looks as I disembarked and strode up the road to my offices.

The day was as uneventful and dull as ever. I was seriously wondering if a life in Public Relations was for me as I received no thrill in phoning endless journalists, booking lunches and sending mass e-mails to papers. Instead I sat there, doodling mindlessly on my notepad and aimlessly surfing the internet in an attempt to make myself look busy. Unfortunately Rachel shot me a daggered look.

"How's the copy coming along for the advertorial in 'Time Out'," she asked with a toothy smile that was all white flashing teeth and little warmth.

"Fine," I nodded. "Wanna' read it?" I knew that she was on to my case, suddenly commenting about the lack of work that I was doing, but the little I was given was easily dealt with. I passed the paper to her and went back to my surfing.

"Izzy, this is really good!" She exclaimed a few moments later, walking over to my desk. "I like your turn of phrase and the subtle use of Johnson's quote, it's different. Have you shown this to Fi?"

"No, why? It's just a page in the guide. Nothing important." I shrugged, but inside I felt a frisson of excitement at her suggestion. Maybe, just maybe something I did would be recognised. However the underdog in me did not allow me to take that risk. "Look, you show it to Fiona, if you think it worthwhile, I am going out for a walk. Do you want anything?"

She shook her head negatively and I used her distraction as an opportunity to escape the building and wander around, hoping that someone might just have the same idea and fate would put in a helping hand.

I paced exactly the same route as yesterday, alert to every suited man who pushed past me, every student hurrying on their way to lectures. None of them matched the man I was looking for; it was as if he were simply an illusion of my under stretched brain, created to add some excitement and diversion to my life.

An hour of wandering aimlessly around left me no closer to an answer, no nearer to finding Ric and with badly frizzed hair from the light mist of rain that was falling. I stumbled back into the office, recoiling slightly at the welcoming committee that was hovering around my desk.

Rachel stood there with both Fiona Faith and Peter Farrow, all of them watching me with an unnerving intensity. I wasn't sure if i was to be congratulated or fired, such was the blankness of their expressions. Fiona broke the silence. "Isabella, would you just step into the meeting room briefly." It was an order, not a request and I followed them in, my manager bringing up the rear.

It was like facing a firing squad, as they sat in a row of three, leaving me no option but to face them across the glass table. If this was an interview, I had no warning, no time to prepare and I felt the sweat rise on the back of my neck as worry took over. The seriousness of occasion and lack of positive expression gave me no reason to be happy.

"Rachel just showed me this copy," Fiona waved the paper she had been holding in her hand. "And I was very surprised to say the least!" The word were clipped out in her Sloane ranger accent, as she tapped her ringed finger against the table, the contact of metal and glass creating a ringing sound.

"Um," I was at a loss for words, unsure if I should apologise or act cool. Instead I just stared at them, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"Tell me Izzy, do you have an English degree?" This question was almost barked.

"Well, no, not really." That was the truth. I had dropped out in my second year, so whilst I had embarked on one, it was not completed.

"You have a very original turn of phrase here. "

"Thank you." My words were hesitant, my boss was giving me no indicators to gauge her mood and her stupid partner, just sat there, grinning inanely.

"In fact it is very good. I am glad Rachel bought this to my attention." She pursed her lips. "I am going to take a huge gamble her Isabella, because to say that your have rather been cruising in your work of late is putting it quite generously." I nodded, it was the truth. "However, as I suspected there is a brain buried in that head of yours and I am prepared to take a gamble. I am giving you the IPC media account, which means that you will also become an Account Executive. Congratulations." She stood up and held out her bony hand across the table, leaving me to gawp like a goldfish and return the handshake. "I will let Rachel show you the ropes, don't fuck it up," she said airily before sweeping out the room with her lapdog of a partner following her.

Rachel and I remained in the office, trying to ignore the stares of our colleagues through the windows. "Did I just hear right?" I shook my head, once again wondering if this was a product of my fevered imagination.

"You have the account for one of the biggest media groups and you've just been promoted," Rachel summarised. "At least that is what I heard."

"Ohmygod, ohmygod!" As reality struck I uttered the words over again, before letting out a shriek and flinging myself into my colleague's arms in happiness. "I can't believe this is happening. Why? When?"

"Well, it was hanging loose as an account ever since Helena left and I just thought..." She gave a shrug and I realised what a kind move she had made on my behalf.

"Rachel, thank you," I said with sincerity. "Tell you want, drinks are on me tonight!" For the first time in months, my mind was on something other then my masked companion.

I was determined that moderation was going to be my motto that evening and I started off with the sincerest of intentions, my request for a wine spritzer raising a few eyebrows for it's temperance. It didn't last that long and by seven we were into a second shared bottle of wine. I hadn't had that much to drink, but it was on an empty stomach, so sobriety was not my name.

I clumsily poured myself another glass, not listening to the flowing chat around me, more intent on drinking the wines "Who is he? Rather gorgeous, nice butt!" The girls comments crept into my ears, they were obviously eyeing up some unfortunate man at the bar, nothing like a pack of girls for hunting the male species.

"But why the mask? Bit freaky!" The comment had me whipping my head up and looking around in a panic, searching the busy bar for the face I knew so well. It wasn't a difficult search for he had spotted me and was bearing down on our table with his long strides, his face fixed in a grim position.

He came and stood next to me, overbearing in his height next to our seated party, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hello Isabella!" The Scottish lilt was heightened by the clipped tones of the words and I could do nothing more then smile up at him.

"Hello Ric," I answered in reply, waiting for some friendlier acknowledgment. It didn't come and something gave me the impression that he was really pissed off!


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello, quite a quick update here - managed to get in a decent amount of typing time this week. A bit of a fluffy chapter but lots of Izzy and Ric. Don't worry things are about to heat up. Thank you to all the new people who are now following this story and those who have done so since the start. Pips**

Chapter Twelve

I recoiled slightly at his unfriendly greeting, unsure what I had done to deserve such frostiness, when last night he had been so kind and loving towards me. "Are you ready to go?" He gazed down at me, eyes blazing through the eyes of the black domino he was wearing.

"Go where?" I wasn't sober enough to read the meaning behind the words, but I could hear the tone and it raised my hackles – he seemed to have a talent for doing that.

"Home." That was the limit of his sentence and he waited in silence as I gathered my things and stumbled slightly out of my seat. My companions watched me in silence, the brooding physique and curt words of Ric not encouraging introductions or conversation.

The hold he took on my arm as he steered me up the stairs and out of the cellar bar; was a little on the tight side and I pulled away, rubbing the skin in an effort to ease the sting left by his grip. We exited into a world of dark, with stinging misty rain and people hurrying to get into the dry. The air swirled around us, flicking moisture at our faces with a sharp stab, as if it were trying to match the mood of my masked escort.

In silence we marched towards the tube and noticed that he followed me closely as I went through the barriers and down onto the platform. "Where are you going?" I hissed at him in annoyance.

"Taking you home," the curt reply came, although anger had sharpened the words so it came out as 'yu hom'.

"I take it you mean my home," we were headed in the right direction. His answer was cut off by the noisy arrival of the train clattering in to the station, the squash of commuters and tourists as we squeezed into the already crowded carriages. We were briefly separated by a more people pushing their way on, so that I was forced down one aisle and Ric down the opposite one, so that all I could see of him was the edge of the mask and a beady blue eye staring in my direction.

We stood there, waiting as the train clattered toward South Kensington and my exit. I had a vague hope that I could shake him off as we got off the train, before stopping myself with a mental slap. This morning I was hoping that he would come and see me and now I was thinking about loosing him! In my drunken annoyance I was unable to think clearly. Yes he was obviously cross, but I couldn't see how it could be with me.

My private pep talk urged me back into action and when we got off the train I paused and waiting for him, beaming a smile in his direction, which he returned as a lopsided grin, one corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. We continued the journey around the corner once more in silence, the wind and rain not making a leisurely stroll conducive and we hurried along, away from the high street and to the back roads and my flat.

On the days when I was feeling positive, I loved my flat. It had been my father's London bolthole when he was alive and having been paid for in full was one of the few things that I had inherited from his estate, most insurances being null and void by the way in which he had died. It was the second floor of an elegant Victorian building, which meant high ceilings and fireplaces, as well as a beautiful garden that I was allowed to use. Unusually it also had a second bedroom, which meant I always had the option of renting it out for extra income, a choice I had so far avoided.

"This is a nice place," Ric murmured as he followed me in. Lots of light and space, unusual for London." He shrugged his bag off his shoulder and let it drop on the floor, the water dripping off the fabric slightly and pooling on the wooden floor. I pointedly hung up my coat above it and moved away.

"Cup of tea?"

"Aye, that would be nice." He followed me into the kitchen and leant against the work surface, large and brooding in my neat compact kitchen. I had totally sobered up by now and moved around my efficient workspace, making cups of tea, turning on the oven and extracting food from the freezer. It seemed that he was there to stay, so I might as well feed him!

He watched my movements with his keen eyes barely leaving my face and I felt possessed by his gaze. "Izzy," he ventured finally, as I turned with cups in both hands. "Do you drink every night?"

"Pardon?"

"Do you go out to the pub every night?" He took the proffered tea and wandered out the kitchen, his question hanging in the air, so that I felt I had no choice but to follow him.

"The answer is no, not that it should concern you that much." I replied tartly and sat down in the same armchair that I had occupied the night before. "However, socialising after work is an important part of the job I do." He grimaced in reply and shrugged a shoulder. "And for your information," I was starting to get worked up, "the only reason I was in the pub today was because I got promoted and my colleagues wished to celebrate." The air quivered with my unspoken childish retort of 'so there!'

He didn't respond for a moment, but studied me unwaveringly. "Fair enough," was his comment after an achingly long minute.

"Fair enough! What is this, some sort of trial?" My ire was raised. Again. I have the right to drink when I want and where I want and it is no business of yours Mr…." I hesitated, suddenly realising that I didn't know his last name.

"Stewart," he supplied helpfully. "But do continue, you're quite a sight when you get worked up you know!"

"Oh fuck off!" I slammed my cup down on the coffee table that separated us and stormed off into the kitchen, banging cupboard doors and throwing food into the oven. Eventually I had done as much as was possible without actually eating and realised that my guest was still sitting there. I would have to go back and face him.

I slunk into the room, refusing to make eye contact, just looking at him from under my lashes. He had retrieved a textbook from his bag and was sitting reading it, one foot propped on his knee. "Interesting?" I asked, attempting to make my tone breezy and light. He looked up at me and the flipped to the cover of the book.

"_Clinical child and adolescent psychology. From theory to practice_." He read out. "It's gripping!" His tone suggested it was anything but. "This guy could win awards from the insomniac's society. It is so boring, but necessary reading so I am ploughing through it!"

The breezy delivery of conversation indicated that he was not holding a grudge against my earlier behaviour; however I still could not fathom his line of questioning, or the reason for his earlier bad mood and rude behaviour in front of my colleagues. It was as if we had been together for ever, rather then a few tentative hours spent in each other's company.

I stood there and watched him as his interest seemed to return to the book. He was once again in student mode, the smartly suited man of yesterday vanishing into a figure wearing jeans with frayed bottoms, scuffed converse and a bobbled dark sweater that hugged his frame. Without the mask he would look no different to scores of students the world over, instead it just added a peculiarly unique edge to his appearance.

"Ric?" I decided to be assertive.

"Mmm," he did not look up this time.

"Why did you ask about my drinking? Is it something that concerns you?" My question caught his attention. He looked directly up at me, sighed slightly and flipping down the corner of his tome, shut it and tossed it on to the coffee table, nearly taking out my empty mug in the process. I snatched it out of harms way and sunk back into my chair.

"You've used alcohol as a crutch before." It was a statement, not a question.

"Ye, well, I suppose, yes, I; yes I have." He grinned slightly as I finally admitted.

"I thought so, when you were with me that night, well, there are certain signs that I recognise and it's not a good way to go. Was it when your father died?"

"Wait. What..." Once again he had wriggled out of telling me something about himself, reflecting advice and knowledge back on to me. I held up my hand, determined to burrow at the little crack he had given in his facade. "How can you recognise the signs?"

"Of alcoholism?" He shrugged. "It's the way you drink, the way you approach it and the way it affects you. One- two, can be okay. But if you let yourself go fully, then it ends up very messy – like you did!"

"I never ended up in rehab or anything, or did AA; nothing like that. But it was mentioned in my counselling and I was advised to keep away from booze where possible. I do try you know, I am aware, although like you said, it creeps up on you. So, how have you experienced it?"

"I." He paused and seemed to collect himself and I couldn't help feeling a small frisson of excitement. This was it, he was about to tell me something about himself and his life, I leaned forward slightly and noticed that he had looked down, was picking at the frayed edge of his trousers. Classic 'in denial' pose. "Oh, something I studied as part of my course," he trotted out as if he had decided against saying the words he had started to utter.

I looked hard at him. "Bullshit," was my succinct reply. "You would not get so personally wound up about it if it was just something you had studied. You've experienced it first hand." I sat back nodding in satisfaction. He wasn't the only one who could read people. "You came into the pub tonight looking as if you personally wished to smash every bottle behind the bar. You were rude to me and my colleagues and couldn't wait to get out of the place." I stated my field observation.

"I had a bad day at Uni and the weather was shite. Enough to put anyone in a bad mood." There was a hidden sulkiness in his tone.

"Possibly!" I agreed with a smile, knowing I had won the point. Unfortunately I did not get an opportunity to dwell on my victory for the beeping of the buzzer informed me that the food was ready.

"Supper's ready!" I stood up and waited for him to join me, instead he looked up in confusion. "Supper? Food? Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to feed me." I could see the edge of a telltale blush creep out from under the edge of his mask and grinned at the sight. It gave me a degree of pleasure to know that I could unnerve him, for he always seemed to have such self control – mostly.

"There's plenty and I like to cook, so sit down." I waved to the table in the corner and went into the kitchen, dishing up the vegetables and fish pie that I had made and carried it out to him. "Sorry, I am not standing on ceremony so here it is." I placed the plate in front of him, smiling at his murmured thank you and sat down myself. "I would offer you a glass of wine, but given our earlier discussion, I don't think you want any."

"I wouldn't mind a glass if there is one going actually," his tone was subdued, maybe realising his prophesising had overstepped the mark.

"Sorry, don't have any open as I never drink at home if I've been out that evening. Moderation," I added. "Like you said."

"Touché." He raised his water glass instead. "Cheers." And sipped the liquid inside as if it were the finest vintage claret, before tucking into his food. "Did you make this Izzy?" He said after a couple of mouthfuls. "It's fantastic!"

"Oh, um, yes. I did. Thanks!" Now it was my turn to blush at his praise. "I like cooking, got rather good at it when it was just me and Dad and I was trying to get him to stay at home and eat, neither of which he did." The shrug was the only way I could convey the disappointment I had felt with my Father's cold manner towards my efforts. Yet Ric seemed to understand for suddenly his hand came down, large and warm on top of mine, squeezing the fingers, his mouth breaking into a smile.

"Really good," he said.

Supper seemed to linger and an intimacy grew without conversation, so that once the plates had been cleared I sat down on the sofa with him, curling against him as we switched the television on, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder as weariness overcame me. Falling asleep on his chest as I grew exhausted and once again waking up the next morning, in my bed, alone.

* * *

"Damn, blast, shit, bugger." My curses coloured the air blue as I spat out every expletive I could think of, in every language. I could not believe that I had once again let him slip through my fingers, run away without letting me get behind his armour and find out something more about him.

All the effort and discussion of yesterday had only left me with two pieces of information that I could add to my meagre store. One, his last name was Stewart, Richard Stewart, hmm, Isabella Stewart. I allowed my mind to wander briefly before slapping it down and returning to my mental checklist. The second fact was that he had experienced the damages of alcoholism first hand. The way he acted it made me think it was not himself; more likely someone close to him. Knowing this information didn't really flesh him out as a character though.

I threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, looking down with astonishment at the fact that I was wearing pyjamas. Surely he hadn't undressed me and got me into my nighthings? That was weird, slightly kinky weird. With a frown across my forehead I wandered into the living room, yawning and scratching my head, running a hand through my bedhead hairstyle. The key grating in the lock stopped me in my actions and I stood there watching the front door with suspicion as it opened and Ric stepped in.

He stopped dead when he saw my suspicious regard of him and let out a hesitant grin. "I went to get the papers! You can't have Saturday morning without Saturday papers!"

I eyed him up and down and realised he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. His observant eyes noticed. "You were out for the count so I just made myself comfortable on the sofa. Although you did come out in the middle of the night and invite me to make myself comfortable in the spare room, so I did." He looked me up and down briefly. "And you must have been awake enough to get into you jammies. Don't you remember?" I frowned and slowly shook my head, not sure if I should believe him or not.

He simply shrugged and held out the wad of paper in his arms. "Telegraph, you strike me as that sort of girl and the Daily Mail and I even managed to get a Scotsman!" His voice held a note of triumph. "Civilised place you in live in!

"Very civilised, enough to have locks on the doors," I replied acerbically taking the papers from him.

"And keys beautifully hung in a little box in your kitchen," he added with a grin, understanding my pointed comment. "I also managed to get some eggs and black pudding! I like this part of town." A little snort of laughter escaped me at his enthusiasm for the northern dish. Disk of sausages flavoured with pigs blood were not a normal part of my diet, but then neither where Haggis, Neeps and tatties!

I was taken aback by his friendly but assuming behaviour. He was all smiles and grins this morning, a contrast to last night; but that same level of familiarity was there, like a significant person in my life, rather then an individual who seemed to drift in and out. I shrugged, deciding to take him at face value and go for the ride, not knowing where it would take me. At the moment the kitchen was the best place, judging by the food in his hands.

Breakfast was cooked; we settled down at the table with the papers and perused them as we ate. Like yesterday evening there was a comforting familiarity in the silence, I did not feel the need to make conversation to fill the emptiness. However, as the clock hands crept nearer midday and we seemed to be no further forward I gave him a gentle verbal nudge.

"Do you have any plans for today?"

"Huh," he looked up at me. "Plans, yeah, have to meet the guys for a practice at two – have a gig this evening, haven't played together for a while." He ran a hand over his chin, rubbing the stubble. "Which means I guess I had better go and face the dragon, so I can get changed and freshen up." He gave a sigh and with a shake of his head went back to his paper; leaving me curious to know more.

"Dragon?" The question was posed as mildly as I could. He looked up.

"The fiercest landlady in the whole of London! She wants maximum money for minimum inconvenience. I have to be in before ten or she locks the door, she doesn't like me 'hanging around' during the day and the less she sees of me at the weekend, the better. It's not exactly a welcoming environment.

"But, I thought you lived in a house with your friends?" I remembered the small terrace I had run from.

"Nay, I was just there for the summer. I'm still a student."Izzy; I live my life by terms and holidays. As of September I was no longer a resident there and the college recommended this woman on the official lodging list. Can see why she was still available – shit place to live and it's still an hour to lectures in the morning." He shrugged as if it were of no consequence, but it made some of his earlier enthusiasm about my flat and its location fall into place.

"So where are you playing; sorry; gigging tonight?" Time to change the subject.

"Oh, um, not sure somewhere around Richmond I think." He shrugged, then stretched full of catlike grace. "It's all the same anyway – a crowed hall, drunk audience who may or may not like your music, sweaty little closet to change in."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself when I went to see you," I commented, "aren't you committed to being a band then?"

"Oh shit Izzy, you have a way of digging don't you?" There was humour in his voice. "_Cluinn_ was formed when I was still an undergraduate at Edinburgh and it was fun and yes we wanted to conquer the world, but I was eighteen then and life changes. When I got this place on the course down here, my mate Jim followed me down determined that the band could still play and still be famous. But life isn't like that, situations change and frankly I am much more concerned with getting my dissertation in then playing in a shithole pub."

"World domination too easy for you then? I thought you were rather good!"

"How English," he mocked. "Rather," he exaggerated the vowels, stretching them out to prim English accent. "We are good; I just don't want to be part of it anymore. Right, do you want a hand washing up and then I had better get going; tempting as it is to sit here and chat with you all day."

"No, no, I'll do it, how about you go and avail yourself of a shower or something, there's tons of hot water and towels," I shrugged trying to make it look as if I didn't care that he was once again going and leaving me. I enjoyed his company.

"Appealing. Okay!" He leant over and pressed a friendly kiss to my cheek, full of brotherly style affection, before hopping up out of the chair, leaving me to look on in confusion. I could not figure this man out, everything he said or did was a paradox, either that or there was much that he was not telling me. I had managed to worm another piece of information out of him – he was an undergrad at Edinburgh, which made sense as Scottish people rarely left Scotland, for tertiary education favouring their universities above English ones.

I banged the pots and pans, stacked the dishwasher and tided up before pausing. Without intending to, I had opened up a perfect opportunity to discover what he seemed so determined to hide from me. The lock on my bathroom door was less then strong and on more then one occasion, during a few parties people tended to burst in on each other, with varying degrees of hilarity or embarrassment.

I could do the same, claim ignorance by forgetfulness and then I could see, discover for myself. 'No stop it Izzy,' I counselled my conscience, 'remember the last time you tried to force his hand?'

But curiosity makes a very persuasive argument and I found myself hovering outside the bathroom door, still unsure of my course of action. With a deep breath and a quick pray to the gods I gave the door a hard shove and burst in on him.

His back was to me, his top off and I gave a slight gasp at the sight of his body, silhouetted against the light pouring in from through the glazed window. His body was lean and long, the back clean without excess hair; moles and markings. I stood there drinking in the sight of so much beautiful naked flesh in my house!

The noise alerted him to my presence and he slowly turned, his lips splitting into a wide smile. "Hey Iz, this is a glorious bathroom!" And I just stood there, mentally cursing for I had discovered very little by my gauche entrance. He was still wearing his mask.


	13. Chapter 13

**Seatbelts on everyone - we're going for a bit of a ride on this chapter. Make any minors look away, they might get ideas!! Pips**

Chapter Thirteen

As I stood the darkness, trying to get my bearings, I started to have serious doubts. I was by the train station in Richmond, studying the map and trying to figure out how to get to the pub where Ric's band was playing. He had actually asked me to be there and it was impossible to deny such a request.

Unfortunately I had spent so long fiddling with my hair and makeup, trying to recreate the cool 'rock-chick' look that Mags had given me last time I went to one of Cluinn's gigs that I was running late. It was hard work and after wiping off several failed attempts, that resembled black eyes, more then trendy makeup, I was over half an hour behind my intended departure time. The tubes didn't cooperate either and I was left standing on Earl's Court station, a draft blowing across my body; freezing me to my bones and making me desperately wish I had never left my warm flat on such an inclement evening. Yet the urge to see Ric again, after he had left that afternoon was my driving force and by focusing on that feeling I could urge myself on, rather then bolting for home and locking the door behind me.

I had failed to discover the secret of his face when I so rudely barged in on him in the bathroom earlier in the day, but instead discovered more about myself then I could have ever known. He turned and looked at me and the huge disappointment that I felt at seeing his covered face quickly dissipated as lust, hot and thick speared through my body. I felt my breast tingle in response and my stomach clench in tightness, the same time as wetness slicked my thighs. It was such an instantaneous response, unknown for so long, for Nigel had never ignited such physical emotions in my body.

You could hardly say that this masked man was the epitome of traditional good looks, the strange facial attire aside, he was a little too on the skinny side, his skin too pale from lack of sun exposure and his arms and legs possibly too gangling. His haircut was currently unfashionably long, instead of practically shaved, as most men seemed to be wearing it these days, so brushed the bottom of his neck as it hung straight, thick and black. His arms were well-developed, the muscles in his upper body and back highlighted by an elaborate Celtic tattoo swirling around his left shoulder and onto his upper arm, knot work and a thistle entwined together. Dark hair danced across his chest in light tufts, just thick enough to be seen, whilst a small line ran from his navel, disappearing down into his jeans which were just a little on the tight side, deliciously so.

I swallowed my desire, attempting to remain collected and not show my sudden desire, but the hand I raised in supplication trembled and the slight smile that twisted his mouth convinced me that he was fully aware of his potency where I was concerned.

"I'm sorry that I took so long, not use to such luxury," the words slid off his tongue as he moved towards me, my eyes fixed on him, unable to move or form coherent speech.

"That's okay," it took all my effort to murmur the words, all the time my body hammering to be joined with his. "I just needed to," my limp gesture behind him could hopefully be interpreted correctly and he did, nodding his head and moving past me. I held my breath, hoping that our bodies did not need to make contact as I feared it would be my undoing.

Thankfully we passed without incident and I collapsed a shivering heap onto the cold tiled floor, resting my head against the still warm, bath panel and letting out a shaky sigh. What had happened? I could not believe my traitorous body could so obviously hook itself onto one person and let me know its wants, whilst my mind was still confused and wavering.

There was something in Richard's manner, an assuming air that seemed to irk me, raise the argumentative side of my nature; so that I could do little more then fling insults at him. It was not my usual nature, for most considered me quite shy, somewhat retiring – well Nigel had in the main, for I use to wordlessly follow him around – a dog and its owner.

No, this man interrupted my calm peace, challenged my preconceived notions and pushed at my safely erected walls, all the time playing havoc with my mind and body. I had told him more about myself and my family then anyone I had known in the intervening years of wandering, since my father's untimely departure. It was the peculiar combination of caring, thoughtful kindness that he exhibited and the bloody minded, determined opinions that he viewed. A potent combination without the added spice of an attractive body to flavour the attraction. I was shaking because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was now hooked to this man.

His simple request that I come and watch the band that night could have been issued as an order, as I would not dare break it. Which is how I came to be standing on a winter's night outside the station at Richmond, unsure where I was suppose to walk. According to the map it was down the high street and by the river, but in the misty evening it was hard to tell.

Finally, tottering on heels that were too high for me, I set off along the high street, checking every pub sign and my A-Z map until I realised that I was heading in the right direction and towards the river. Within five metres, the pounding of the music and a pair of mean looking bouncers on the door convinced me that I was in the right place. Charming my way past them with the flimsy 'backstage pass' that Ric had bestowed on me, I made my way upstairs to the upstairs bar, where the beat of the drums became deafening as it was joined by a slide of electric guitar.

I paused at the top of the staircase, not a good position as I was continually jostled by the crowds moving up and down to the bar. However it was harder to get any nearer for the mass of bodies pressed into the space, from wall to wall and the front of the stage to the back of the room where the bar and staircase were. The only way that anyone could move was to push fruitlessly against this seething throng of people, gaining an elbow of space here, a shoulder there. With determination I pushed my way to the front, standing in a whole foot's worth of room, right in front of the speakers, so the reverberation made my ears pound.

Despite this, it did offer me a good view of the stage, especially the lead singer, whilst he couldn't see me easily, half hidden by the equipment and with all his energy and attention focused on the audience in front of him. I had hoped that the intervening hours between his departure and my arrival here, would have calmed my raging hormones, but no, they flared up again simply at the sight of him.

They were leather jeans this time – possibly dated and very clichéd; but hugging his well toned body and long legs, they suited him. Matched with a t-shirt that looked as if it had the sleeves ripped out of it, his tattoo swirling out the armhole; shining with sweat, he looked the epitome of a true rock star and not the businessman of two nights ago, or the student of yesterday. He wore the black horizontal mask this time and it suited the rough character and loud music.

I was not the only one who was clearly attracted to him. The audience here seemed less discerning then the previous venue and were largely female, giggling and screaming, thrusting their hands into the air; looking as if they were trying to pull him into their midst. I felt a stab of jealously as he lent forwards, smiling at one, blowing a kiss at another, even though I knew it was an act – a show. He was the consummate performer and that was half the reason the set was so good, for the music was almost too loud to be appreciated.

I stayed there hemmed into my uncomfortable space for three more songs, before he finally, finally said his thanks, acknowledged the rest of the band and trudged off the small stage into the wings liberally entitled 'back stage'. Not knowing what to do, I glanced around as the crowd started to disperse, not wanting to drink and potentially start that conversation again. With no one to talk to and nothing to keep my hands occupied I decided to use the ladies in my spare time. Unfortunately it would seem that the female audience had the same idea and my quick trip was over fifteen minutes of waiting.

Entering back into the upstairs room, the rock music replaced with bland floor filling club beats, I searched in vain for my masked companion. He was standing in a corner by the bar, a woman in front of him and another by his side, both were leaning on him in a manner that was far too suggestive and I felt my blood boil at the sight. I marched towards the intruders, eyes flashing fire, ready to rip them off Ric, claim him as my own. I closed half the distance between us when he noticed me, his gaze snapping to my face, a smile splitting his into two. He wriggled out of the embrace of the two women, flashing a grin at their pouting lips and walked straight over to me. It appeased my ire somewhat.

"I didn't think you had come, I never saw you!" His voice was husky and sounded slightly strained after the singing. He placed a hand on my shoulder and pulled me in close, his body hot and sweaty underneath mine. I returned the embrace, unable to shoot a triumphant look over at the women who were now openly staring at me and the lead singer they had been draped over.

"I couldn't get any closer then the corner," I answered, "I was a bit late and didn't realise it would be so crowded." I looked around. "You seem to have quite a following!"

He looked around and flashed me a cocky smile matched by a quick shrug. He knew what they came for, quite aware it was not the music. The rest of the band paled into insignificance next to his talent. "They like the look of Sandy," he spoke close to my ear so that I could hear. He's the pretty boy!" And gestured with his head to a man surrounded by admiring females, entertaining them all. I caught a glimpse of the blonde haired man and smiled, in contrast to Ric's slightly surly and peculiar appearance he was traditional good-looking, all blonde haired, blued eyed and white teethed. It made me relieved that I could look on him and not feel the lust that came by being close to his band mate.

"We're gonna' split when they call time," Ric continued, noticing the slight smile dancing around my lips. "I was planning on crashing over at Jim's; he had a comfortable floor.." His voice trailed off and he looked at me in such a way that the response was automatic.

"No, come back to mine!" I had said it, sealed me fate and made it clear what I wanted. Ric knew, for he simply raised an eyebrow, gave me a flash of that potent smile and whilst I tried to recover from my weak kneed state, went and excused himself to the rest of the band.

* * *

We stumbled into the dark flat, our lips locked together in an endless kiss. His hands on my hips he guided me across the living room by the dusky lights of the street lamps, until we reached my bedroom. Once there the kissing stepped up a pace and he pulled back, his mouth lightly pecking at mine, biting my lip, then moving to kiss along my jaw line, scrapping his teeth across the bone under the skin, his hands gliding through my hair, twisting into the curls that I had pinned up and dragging them down so that the hairgrips fell in a tingle onto the wooden floor.

If I had been weak kneed before he started kissing; now I was helpless. It felt as if my legs had melted into a molten pool beneath me, no substance in them and I knew that if he let go I would collapse at his feet. His mouth moved further down, nibbling at my neck; sucking at my shoulder so that the skin raised red and bruised. I moaned loudly, my hands reaching up to grab his face, determined to explore him as thoroughly as he was me. One side met warm flesh, skin over living muscle, moving; alive. The other hand, plastic that was hard and unyielding. There were ridges and grooves traced into it, echoing the cheekbones and jaw of the real half of the face, but the warmth was reflected by the wearer. Without even being fully aware, my hand crept to the side of the covering, fingers curving inwards to hook underneath the edge and pull it off.

"No." Strong hands encircled my wrists and pulled them off my face, pushing them down to my sides and holding them there as he once again started to kiss my mouth, pushing his body into mine, leaving me with no doubt what he wanted. Even the shadowy light could not disguise the huge leather clad bulge that was unsubtly making itself known.

I battled against his hold, aroused by the domination, but also scared by it. This was new to me for sex had always been a necessary and slightly messy part of a relationship. I had been able to get through the act without it piercing my soul. But this was different, already stripped of reluctance, now Ric was attempting to strip me of will power by a combination of lust and force – and oh how my body responded; leaving my head to whirl around in ever decreasing circles.

With one long draining kiss, where he pulled my lip with his teeth, he left my body and closed the curtains in the bedroom, shutting out the dreary streetlamp, so that we were left in utter darkness. As my eyes slowly adjusted, I could see him a shadowy silhouette moving about the room and nothing more. Any indication of features could only be sensed, not seen.

I felt his breath warm on my cheek and then his long lean fingers dance across my chest and through my top undo the clasp of my bra, so that if fell forwards, leaving my boobs to drag downwards. His hands wandered up underneath my t-shirt, dancing across the now freed nipples, rolling his fingers across them, so they rose hard under his hand, giving them a quick pinch that elicited a gasp from me which he stole from my mouth with a kiss. In the dark, I tentatively reached for his face again and pulled it down towards mine, returning the drugging kisses until my head swam and I could barely tell which way was up.

Somehow he had divested me of my top and bra and he pushed me backwards so that I landed on my bed, the impact pushing the air from my lungs with a 'wumph'. He then proceeded to divulge me of my clothing, slowly, very slowly; licking and kissing his way up my body, caressing every inch of skin that he exposed. As he reached my inner thigh he gently bit the flesh, nibbling upwards so that I had to clutch the sheets to stop myself jumping up and onto him.

Never before had I been so thoroughly turned on. He played me as exquisitely and with the same finesse as his violin. In the dark my senses were all disrupted, each kiss seemed to float in from nowhere, each touch a brand on my body. The raspy sound of our breathing was the only noise; speech was unnecessary and too coarse for the occasion.

I can't say what happened after that. Everything washed over me, tumbling me in tidal waves of emotion as I gasped out my lust. I don't even remember making pillow talk after we both came down; exhausted I simply flopped on to my side and fell into an instantaneous sleep.

It was about five in the morning when I woke, cold and stiff, having not crawled under the duvet. The top of my legs felt sticky, parts of my body that I didn't know existed ached and I was disorientated in the almost total darkness of the room. Stumbling and tripping over discarded clothing and furniture, I made my way to the door and turned on the light in the hall, dragging myself to the bathroom and sorting myself out.

I paused in the doorway as I returned, slightly more awake and aware that the light from the hall spilled into my bedroom, penetrating the darkness and turning it into a dusky gloom. It was enough for me to see the man lying on my bed, the pillow curled up against his head, his body relaxed in sleep. The light was enough for me to see that he wasn't wearing his mask and a vague memory penetrated the fog in my brain, I remember flinging it across the room earlier. How easy it would now be to walk across, study his face clearly without him realising that I was looking, and prepare myself for this secret that he seemed so determined to keep.

One step, two, I moved into the room and looked, standing to one side so my shadow did not cast over his face. He was sleeping in such a position that I could not clearly see his face, but could tell that something in his features was not right, it was more then a simple trick of the light. I walked up more closely, turning my head in an attempt to gage what the problem was, what he was hiding.

He grunted, possibly disturbed by the beam and rolled over, flinging himself onto his back across the bed and once more pushing his face into the shadows. There was little I could see clearly and it was obviously not meant to be. Instead I climbed back into bed, a thrill running through my body when he wrapped his arms around me body and pulled me close to his, letting me share the warmth he radiated as I drifted back off to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

It felt a bit like Christmas - that deflated feeling that comes after so much excitement and festivity. Suddenly I was alone again having woken to an empty house, something I was getting used to and spent the day by myself. This time Ric had excused himself, leaving me a note apologising for his absence, blaming an essay that needed working on. Obviously my presence was a distraction!

But I managed to float through the day by reflecting on the positives of the night before, even managing to get hold of my absent friend and bend her ear in excruciating detail. Mags was quietly positive, although could not hide the exhaustion in her voice. Currently working on the West End stage, she was dancing eight shows a week and it was taking its toll.

Monday dawned with my new position loaming and I was quietly scared, but thrilled at the same time. To be handed such a golden opportunity was rare for me and I was determined to embrace it. By lunchtime I had not even left my desk to get a cup of tea, so busy with reading the back information and trying to see how I could help turn this account into a market leader.

By one o'clock I was starving and instead of going out for a sandwich asked Rachel to grab me something. This was a new area for me – such dedication to the cause. I sat jotting ideas down in my notebook, arranging meetings with the individual editors of the magazines and trying to get as much background research in as possible.

I jumped as I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Huh!"

"Izzy, I know Fi told you not to mess it up, but it's six-thirty and we're all going down the pub. Want to come?"

"Oh" I automatically glanced down at my watch, surprised at the way time had flown. In an open office, my back to the window, I had not really been aware of the passing of time and realised that it was dark outside. Never before had work passed so quickly for me and I noted with astonishment it was the happiest I had ever been in the job.

The temptation to down tools and join them was quite strong, but without warning a vision of Ric and his ire on Friday night flashed into my brain. No one had made a direct comment about my unusual departure last week, although several snide remarks had been made about my baby sitter and the fact that Halloween was still a week away. I knew they were referring to Richard's mask and found it raised my hackles. I may not know what was behind it, but at least I was never rude about it verbally.

"No, better not," I finally answered, as I realised that Rachel was waiting for a reply. "I'm going to head straight home, bit shattered really." Even as I spoke, my hand slid for my pen again as a new idea entered my brain and I wanted to commit it to paper.

"Okay, well don't stay too late," her voice slid off as she left the room, leaving me alone, the last in the office. I had never ever been the last person here. Finally common sense won the day and gathering my things I locked up and head down battled my way home amongst the rest of the commuters.

I was weary as I finally made my way out of the tube and trudged the few streets home. My mind was far away from the route I was taking; my steps automatic and I only briefly wondered if I would see Ric tonight. It would seem that I had little control on his appearance in my life, although a night off might be quite nice, considering how tired I was.

I let myself in the communal front door, climbing the stairs up to my second floor flat and stopping in surprise. He was sitting huddled by my front door, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His head was resting in a depressed, weary disposition on his knees. Next to him sat a backpack and nothing else.

"What are you doing here?" the words coming out more aggressively then I intended. He lifted his head and tried to smile, the line of his mouth trembling. The sight immediately made me feel guilty.

"Throwing myself on your charity," the Scots accent was rough and tired, like his false smile. "I am now officially homeless."

"How can you be home…"I trailed off, remembering what he had told me about his landlady. "Well you had better come in. How long have you been out here?" I shoved the key in the lock and pushed the door open, holding it there with my foot and waiting as he pushed himself to a standing position, grabbing the bag and sidling past me.

"Thank you," he sighed and shrugged his shoulders as if trying to release the tension that I could see was sitting across them. He stood there, swaying slightly with exhaustion, looking as if he were trying to focus his gaze on me and failing.

"Sit down," I heaved a mental sigh and hung my coat up. "I'll go make us some tea and then maybe you can tell me what the matter is?" So correctly British – in times of crisis make tea!

When I came out the kitchen with our cups, he was slumped on the sofa, his head lolling on his shoulder and his eyes closed behind the flesh coloured domino he wore. His light breathing made me think he was asleep, so I simply placed the cup on the table in front and went into my bedroom. I didn't want to disturb him if he were asleep.

There was a light rap on my doorframe and I turned in the middle of getting changed. The smart suit that I had worn to work today was the most comfortable of clothing. "Izzy," his voice was rough with lack of sleep.

"Hey!" I spun around; aware that he had caught me half dressed and hastily stuffed my arms into the sweater, pulling it down over my head. "You woke up, thought you might like to sleep."

"No, I've got too much going on in my mind!" He raised his hand and rubbed his eyes through the mask wearily, wincing slightly as his fingers caught on the edge of the eyeholes. He looked dishevelled, his t-shirt and sweater askew, his hair a matted mess.

I walked over and put a hand on his shoulder in concern. This was not the man that I knew, nor the man of the weekend that I lusted after. This was a. …friend. I hesitated to use that word, but knew it was true. I cared for him, gave a damn what happened to him and could not ignore the plea for help. "Do you want to tell me what's happened?"

He shrugged, although I was unsure if it was in reply to my question or to try and get rid of my hand on his shoulder. Either way, I moved out into the living room, curling up in my usual chair, hoping that he would come and talk to me. Luck was on my side and he settled on the sofa once again, morosely picking up the cup in front of him and taking a sip. "I got my essay in at least," he finally spoke, although his head was bent down towards his knee and his free hand irritated a raised thread on his jeans.

"Well, that's good news," I tried to sound positive and cheerful, an annoying chirpiness to my voice that reminded me of all the people who use to try and comfort me when I was down.

"I left you on Sunday morning, went back and got changed." His monologue came out in a deadened tone. "She came and stood at my door and dressed me down, demanding to know where I had been and why didn't I have the courtesy to let her know I wasn't coming home! You would think I was her child, not a lodger. And then I spent all day working in the library at college, went back and sat up all night typing it up and giving some polish to the hypothesis – I mean this was a ten thousand word essay and a quarter of the credits to my course. Anyway, I went back there about lunchtime today and the door was locked and my key didn't work! When I phoned her, she said that I had kept her awake all night with my light on and the sound of my computer and that she had changed her mind about wanting a lodger and I needed to remove my things from her house before nine this evening or she was giving them to charity." He tried to laugh, but it came out a hoarse and lacking in any mirth.

"But, she can't do that can she? I mean you have to give notice and I assume that she has to do the same? Didn't you sign a contract?"

"Aye, but I just think she is a bit nuts. She's got quite nasty on occasion, said some really spiteful things. I don't really want to stay there, but haven't had time to look for somewhere else. I've been to the housing office and they've put my name down on the list for a room…" He trailed off and shrugged, the stress of the day obviously too much for him to cope with.

"Well have you got the rest of your things? You don't want her to chuck them out?" He shrugged again, downing more tea, obviously at a lose to know what to do and I realised that I needed to take control. "Come on then!" He looked up in shock! "Let's go and get them!"

Generosity abounded and I hailed a taxi to take him back to his old lodgings, hoping that he might open up on the way there, but he had retreated far into himself and sat diagonally opposite me on the jump seat, hanging onto the strap to keep himself upright. The kind caring man of last week was lost, the sexual allure of last night firmly locked away. It seemed as if he had taken a real blow and was struggling to get up again.

The shuttered vulnerability rang a cord with me, for I knew what it was like to be there. And to be hit when you were down was hard and the only way I could offer him any solace was to help him sort his life out. I was flattered that he had thought of me as a place of refuge, although wondered if he was hoping to stay. I really didn't know how I could live in the same house as this man!

Our journey took us to north-west London and a dingy little house, in a dingy road. We gained access with a degree of difficulty, Ric was right about his landlady, for she eyed him with great suspicion. I could not believe that he was willing to pay rent for such a room and could see why he was so enamoured with my little flat!

His allocated space was small and dark, a seeming hasty addition to the house. As far as I could see the view was an unprepossessing brick wall and there was a telltale creep of damp in the far corner. A single bed, desk and wardrobe had been squeezed in, leaving little space to move around in. It would have been bad enough if the house didn't smell of boiled cabbage to boot! "You chose to live here?" I asked incredulously, a wary eye on the dark corners.

"It was all I could afford," he sighed and dumped a drawer on the unmade bed. I couldn't bare the sight of the crumpled clothing within and fussily began to fold it into one of the bags that I had insisted on bringing. The gesture bought a smile to his face for the first time that evening and he turned and followed suit with the other two drawers of the dresser and a small armful from the cupboard.

It was a fairly paltry collection of cloth, several pairs of jean, a couple of shirts and a suit, although t-shirts and sweaters in the main. Nothing high fashion and little that didn't look worn. This was not a man who rated clothes highly. "Where's the red outfit?" I had hoped to see the velvet trousers and jacket, that I had privately dubbed my 'Phantom' outfit.

"That?" he sounded shocked that I even remembered it, before giving a little shrug. "Oh, it was kinda' pieced together and borrowed. Not mine at all! Okay, that's everything!"

I surveyed the two bags and a solo box of personal items, heaped on the bed, swelled only by the addition of a laptop bag, a guitar and a violin. Whilst I had not forgotten about the musical instruments, the sight of them bought his talent flooding back to me and I longed to hear him play something beautiful and classical, rather then the heavy rock that the _Cluinn_ seemed to favour.

"Have you managed to get your deposit back off her, as she is kicking you out then?" He shook his head in the negative. "Ric! Fine, well I will ask for you." Empowered by a sense of righteousness, I marched down the stairs and knocked on the living room door, pushing it open at the summons and walked into the room. I nearly reeled back in disgust, for it was filthy and the smell of old food that permeated upstairs was even stronger here. I tried to breath through my mouth.

"I have come for Richard's deposit please," I tried to sound official and not be put off by the sight and smell of the woman who spilled over the edges of the chair she had wedged herself into.

"I need to inspect the room," her piggy eyes rested on mine. "How do I know he hasn't damaged anything?"

"I think that's impossible, seeing as it is already in a state. By the way, you have rising damp – did you realise! I would have it seen to." I projected an image of a sophisticated and knowledgeable business person, summoning any acting skill my mother might have passed on to me and the frostiness my father used to employ. "He would appreciate a cheque for the full amount now please. And I have also recommended that he advise the college you are to be removed from their housing list."

Her lips pursed in an ugly way and I could see she was weighing up what I had said, unsure of who I was and how much I could be riled. "And what are you to him them? A girlfriend, a lover?" The words were rolled around her mouth and spat out at me, so that I actually recoiled, trying to avoid the spittle that flew with the question.

"A friend, that is all," I tried to get rid of the visions of the night before that came dancing into my head.

"Friend hey? Well my girl I hope you realise that you are friends with an abnormal freak!" There was a bitter ugliness in her voice and I tried not to react. "His face is not a pretty sight you know! Not as pretty as your little looks and ugly faces reflect ugly minds."

I did take a step back then, her comment so damming and slightly alarming for its echoes of slander. "The cheque please," I insisted. She must have realised I was not to be deterred for she hauled herself up from the chair, panting with the exerted effort and waddled over to a dirty old bag, that must double as her handbag. Reaching inside she withdrew a wad of grubby notes and peeling a few off the top, threw them on the table.

"Three hundred and thirty, in cash. Twenty taken off the fact that's it cash and the inconvenience caused!" I bit my tongue, so tempted to point out the facts, that she was the one who had caused the problem, but decided to quit, whilst I was ahead. "But just so you know girlie, he is a strange man; he has strange things in that room of him. Be on your guard, be careful!"

I swiped the cash from under her hand and turned on my heel, climbing the stairs once again, desperate to get out of the strange house and away from the odd woman. She made me feel uncomfortable and whilst I realised her comments were no more then bitter slandering, they still made me feel uncomfortable.

Ric and I silently carried his things downstairs and stacked them by the front door, waiting until we heard the chug of the taxi outside. He moved into the front room, holding out his key. "Mrs Polinski." She turned and he wordlessly handed her the key, staring directly at her, his mask taking on an eerie glow in the dim light. For a moment he did look intimidating.

It was past ten by the time we finally reached my flat and carried Richard's pitiful belongings up the stairs and I was exhausted, heavens knows how he must have felt. We stood awkwardly in the living room, for I didn't know what to say or do. My superhero plan had not extended beyond removing his belongings from that dreadful house. Should I invite him to rekindle the passion of two nights ago or leave him to try and catch up on needed sleep?

"Take the spare room," I invited, taking a look at him, swaying with tiredness. "Sleep!" It seemed he needed no further encouragement for he raised a hand and briefly cupped my cheek, focusing his bloodshot eyes on me.

"Thank you Izzy," he said simply, the words heartfelt. I smiled at him and lifted my hand so that it rested over his.

"Sleep," I repeated and we'll talk tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

I paused at my front door, key in hand; suddenly unsure if I wanted to commit to the moment. The scenario had been frustratingly spinning around in my head all day, making the work I so keenly embraced yesterday, a second thought. Yes; Ric could stay, no he couldn't, yes he should. The arguments and allegations reverberated around my brain as if it were full of squabbling children.

In the end friendship, practicality and a sprinkling of lust won the day. He could stay - against my better judgment. My own misgivings, coupled with the words of his ex-landlady swirled around, once again causing hesitation to commit to the decision that I made before I left work. How would we live together, would we form a relationship or would it remain platonic, Saturday night being an unspoken delight that was locked away? How strange was Ric really? Was there something abnormal that he hid, not least his face?

I squared my shoulders and turned the key in the lock pushing the door open and calling out. It seemed strange to think that there was someone else in my flat, my little refuge. At the sound of my voice he emerged from the spare room, except that I had to start thinking of it now as his. He had obviously slept his fill after last night, washed and changed his clothes and the person before me was much more recognisable from the disorientated and down being of last night.

"Hey, how you feeling?" Go straight for the jugular was my plan, no skirting around the issue.

"Yeah, much better, thanks." The words were softly spoken and no smile graced his face. He simply stood in front of me, hands in his jean pockets, head canted to one side as he studied my appearance. "You look nice," he finally spoke after a stretched pause.

"Thanks, c'ept I'm just going to get changed as it is hardly lounging around clothes." Secretly; I was glad he had noticed, for I had spent a decent amount of time getting ready that morning, straightening my hair, wearing my latest _Pied a Terre_ boots, coupled with a knee length grey wool dress – chic enough to left a sizeable dent in my allowance. Those three words he had uttered had made it worth every penny though.

But I didn't want to dally on the unimportant facts of the day, instead a very important conversation was waiting for me and I changed into comfortable tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt in record time. Emerging from my bedroom, I saw that he had made tea for both of us and was sitting on the sofa, obviously expecting conversation. I suppose he was totally unsure of his future and was just as eager to know what to do.

I sat down in my armchair, smiling to myself at how ritualised this small act had become. A conversation of any sort required tea and facing each other across the span of the coffee table. We sipped in silence at first, for I was unsure how to start up the conversation. My relationship with Richard was more informal then that of a landlady, less concrete then being boyfriend and girlfriend and whilst I would call him a friend, even that was a tentative naming.

"Did you go into college today?" I finally asked, lacking a better opening. He shook his head in the negative.

"I didn't even wake up until one!" He snorted slightly. "Don't make any rude comments about students and sleeping in either!"

"I wasn't going to! I think you deserved to lie in. When do you find out about this essay?"

"In a week or so, it is really a fore runner to the diploma, which is in itself a major part of the course." He sighed. "I just want to get it over and done with, high myself back to Scotland and be some use, rather then wandering around London and singing in dingy pubs! It is such a fucking waste of time!" The explosion of emotion had me momentarily stunned, for it showed such passion to whatever cause he was supporting. I continued to examine him in silence, hoping that he would reveal more now that he was talking and I wasn't disappointed. "Three years for the fucking degree, then they thought this would help and I have another year of advocacy and my life is fucking disappearing before my eyes, drowning in paperwork, essays. I am not going to achieve anything!" His language deteriorated and his accent increased as he spoke.

"Advocacy?" I repeated the one word that meant anything. "That's like a Scottish lawyer isn't it?"

"Barrister – aye!" He looked at me slightly startled that I had grabbed onto this word, then relaxed. "I'm sorry Izzy; I forget you don't know it all. I sometimes think I have known you forever and so don't fill you in on the details." As he calmed down and spoke his voice became more modulated again, calmer and enticing. "I am in training to become an Advocate of Scottish Law, specialising in Family Law, hence the reason I am down here doing this course – for it isn't widely offered. One year, it'll take me and I finish May of next. What?"

He looked at me in confusion, for I had collapsed with laughter, folding myself in half as I giggled. "I'm sorry Ric," I managed to gain control of myself and wiped errant tears from the corner of my eyes. "I was just thinking that of when I first met you, well, I thought you were a busker and probably homeless!"

"I was," he insisted intensely. "Well, not quite as homeless as I am now, but I was sleeping on a friend's floor!"

"And possibly a thief!" I giggled again.

"I stole my friend's food from the 'fridge if that counts," he flashed me a smile, amused at my hilarity against myself. "Sorry to have given you that impression, it wasn't intentional – after all you jumped to conclusions."

"So did you!" I stopped chuckling, for there was seriousness in his tone. "You just assumed that was a PR girl without a sensible or rational thought between my ears, you did, I know you did!" He had the grace to blush slightly the colour carrying down to the visible part of his face, a slight smile curling his lips up and he gave a one shouldered shrug in agreement.

"You managed to give that impression though!"

"I've worked very hard at cultivating it!" I took a sip of my tea and regarded him thoughtfully. "What I don't understand Ric, is if you are so committed to being an lawyer, sorry Advocate, what the hell were you doing busking in Covent Garden?" He shrugged again.

"Makes money, helps pay rent."

"But you must get grants and bursaries to help you do that. And you wouldn't come down to London to study without some financial backing. I also know that you have to purchase a licence to busk around there, which isn't cheap. Why?"

"Oh okay, I enjoy performing, Detective, that's why. The fact that I can get money for it is an added bonus, but it also means that I can play my instruments out loud without fear of upsetting anyone. Can you imagine my old landlady being happy if I knocked out a quick sonata on the violin every night?" I shook my head for he had a good point.

"I know realise why it is so difficult to argue with you. Everything is planned and counter checked in advance. You will always have the last word won't you?"

He laughed. "My Mam said the same thing more or less. She was the one who told me I should become an Advocate, 'cause then I could argue and be paid for it." His tone sounded a mixture of wistful and proud and I realised this was the first time he had mentioned any family.

"So your Mam, sorry Mother is behind you in this then?" It was a line of questioning I couldn't help but pursue however as soon as the words left my mouth, I realised then were the wrong ones. Any openness, any forward movement I had made with Richard, in getting him to open up and talk to me about himself was culled. The shutters came down immediately. The Izzy of old would have pouted, quarrelled and pulled some outrageous stunt (like pulling his mask off) in an attempt to get her answers, but I had learnt the hard way that it was not the correct method when dealing with Ric. "How about some supper? Stir-fry?"

He followed me into the kitchen, propping up the work surface and watched as I chopped vegetables and tried to keep the conversation light, telling him about my day and sketching out my colleagues mannerisms for him, managing to make him laugh as I imitated my stuck-up bosses!

The food cooked, a glass of wine poured, we sat at the table and I watched him mop up his chow mien, quietly impressed at how he handled chopsticks. "Well, cheers," I finally said, holding up my glass and clanking it against his. "And um, congratulations!"

"Congratulations?" I smiled at his confusion.

"Yes, you now have somewhere to live. Here!" I watched as he visibly jerked, taken aback by my statement.

"I didn't ask to live here," he finally said, slowly and I wondered if he was going to turn my decision down.

"Don't you want to?" I closed my eyes briefly and hoped that I didn't sound like a little girl whose offer of friendship had been rejected.

"I'm just surprised, that's all, I didn't think you wanted anyone else living here – that's the impression you gave me. I only came here last night as I really had no where else to go, it wasn't because I was trying to get you to offer me a home, well I am really glad that you did and it's very kind of you..." He trailed off in confusion.

"If you are going to be an Advocate, you will have to structure your speech better then that!" I said bemused at his reaction and secretly thrilled. "And I have decided to offer you a home because you are more civilised then I realised!"

"What, because you now know my life plan?" Cynicism marked his words.

"Oh no," I waved the comment away," you can eat with chopsticks - much more important!" The comment wrenched a laugh from him and he leant over the table, kissing me on the cheek, all signs of the tormented soul lost again. His moods were quicksilver in their change, flashing from fun to loving, serious to sexy. Possibly because his face was covered it was harder to read his intentions, I could have been missing nuances that would be clearer without the mask. "Of course," I pressed on, glad to have the upper hand. "This offer does come with certain ...conditions!"

"Like what?" His glass paused in mid-air, eyes fixed on me in an unbreakable stare.

"Certain questions I want answered, things I need to know, to fathom you out."

"Oh." If reluctance could be expressed as a word, that was it. Cautious, slightly trapped, the note of panic clearly there, but damped down. I could tell where his imagination was taking him.

"So firstly," I leaned across the table, pushing my plate to one side in order to get a hold on his eyes. "Football or rugby?"

"What?" It was hard not to break into a smile at the confusion that flashed across his face at my questioning. He hadn't been expecting that!

"Football or rugby? Which do you prefer?"

"Rugby, sort of, not really into either." He shrugged. "Okay, I get it. Next?"

"Holiday home or abroad?"

"I've travelled around Europe, but you can't beat home."

"Spoken like a true Scot! Ketchup or mayo?"

"On my chips? Ketchup, mayonnaise is something you southerners have thought up."

"Actually it's from the continent!" I sat up somewhat riled by his dig and saw the smile that he flashed me, so deeply into my questioning that I didn't spot his teasing. "Not fair. Right difficult one, Fish and chips or Burger and chips."

"Carry out fish and chips, no contest."

"With a deep fried Mars Bar!"

"What a stereotypical thing to say! Have you ever tried a deep fried Mars Bar? They are disgusting. What is it about you lot that you think all Scots people walk around in kilts, drinking whisky and eating fried food! Either that or living like Monarch of the bloody, whatever that programme was!" He threw his hands up in the air in disgust, although his tone was tinged with humour and I could tell that unlike his earlier outburst, he was amused with my preconceptions, even if they were borrowed and not my own.

"Monarch of the Glen," I added helpfully "and not everyone does, in the same way that not all Scots people think us Southerners, or should that be Sassenach, are educated at private school, own ponies and drive Rolls Royce's."

"Or work as air-headed PR girls," he added with a chuckle. "Okay, fair enough, we both carry the weight of stereotypes on our head that have been centuries in the making, none of which we conform to. Let's agree to disagree on that one." He pacified. "Next question?"

"Why do you wear a mask?" I could tell that my words hit him straight between the eyes, for as I had hoped my silly queries had lulled him into a false sense of security. But this was the question that I really wanted to know, this was what I had hoped to find out all those months ago, even if my approach had been a lot clumsier.

"Didn't see that one coming," he spoke softly, controlled; measured, turning his face from me and gazing out the window. I hadn't bothered to close the curtains and the dark night, broken by the streetlamp shone through. "Why is it so important for you to know Izzy? Would it make that much difference to you if I refused to answer?"

"I trust you and told you a lot about my life that nobody else knows." I picked up my glass of wine and took a sip, hoping that my shaking hand would not break through the aura of nonchalance that I was hiding behind. "I am asking for the same in return. I offered you a room in my house not simply because you need one, but you are the first person I have met, in over ten years who I can begin to connect with. We're the same, I know, we live a charade and hide ourselves behind coverings. I showed you what's beneath mine."

"Is this my deposit then?" His feelings were behind a veneer of sarcasm and I had to smile slightly at the way we were both trying not to admit our feelings.

"If you want to call it that." My eyes were drawn to his hands which had moved to fiddle with his chopsticks, twisting them around his fingers, playing with them to calm his nerves. "You don't have to show me, you can just tell me," I reasoned, sensing his reluctance, but not willing to step down.

"No, there is no point in that, it will just pique your curiosity further," he sighed deeply, letting his shoulders droop and for a moment my potential victory felt a little bit hollow. He didn't want to do this, yet he would. Was it for me or the room? "Fine, here, take your fill!" He pulled the domino off his face and sat stock still, holding me in his gaze, staring at me almost unblinkingly. I inhaled deeply and stared back shocked but not horrified by what I saw.

I don't know quite what I had imagined he was hiding, a slightly romantic part of me coupled him with the Phantom of the Opera and I had placed those fictional disfigurements on to his features. It wasn't however, no deformities, no missing nose or throbbing veins. Instead, a large gash started about an inch above his left eyebrow, running down in an arc, almost through the eye and slashing down into his cheek, where it was crossed over with other marks. The main gash had not healed cleanly and in places look twisted, the scar tissue hard and shiny in the light.

I finally looked down and he covered his cheek with his hand, absently scratching the wound and running his fingers across the scar tissue on his cheek. "Is the scar through your eye?" I chose clinical interest over the harder questions. It was clear that a knife of some sort had made those scars.

"Aye. I nearly lost it as a result, but thankfully not. Although my vision is only fifty percent now and it goes very blotchy when I get tired. I usually wear contact lenses or glasses." He inhaled. "And I suppose your next question is how did it happen?" I pulled a face to show he wasn't wrong, there was no point beating around the bush.

"Yes."

"I hate telling this because people judge you. They start out all sympathetic and by the end you can tell their attitude has changed." He paused and looked at me. "But you know what that's like."

"Let's go and sit down on the sofa." I suggested worried that on the brink of him telling me he would bolt, or refuse. There was a lot more to his appearance then a wish to conceal an ugly, but by no means disfiguring scar. He agreed and for once I sat next to him, looking at the damaged side of his face, wondering how he came across such an injury.

"My Mam fell pregnant with me when she was sixteen." His opening statement and it jolted me into paying attention to what he was saying, for he was looking at the ground, mumbling slightly. This was not a story he wanted to tell. "Have you ever heard of the Glasgow sink estates? Castlemilk, Easterhouse, Drumchapel?"

"I remember studying the Gorbels in Geography at school," I answered.

"Aye, well the housing estates were constructed post war to aid the slum clearances, places like the Gorbels and into them they shoved all the people they didn't want in the city centre. They were pretty awful places back then, badly constructed soulless housing estates full of high rise tower blocks and maisonettes. The epitome of everything that was wrong with that period of construction really." He looked up at me, his eyes carrying a haunted look.

"My grandparents were relocated to Drumchapel in the late Fifties with my mother and her brother and that is where they grew up; in a Catholic, God- fearing household. You can imagine how badly her pregnancy was received, this was Seventies; you didn't have teenage mothers, at least not in the same way. Mam had me and Granma bought me up with her." I nodded encouragingly, excited by this story that already had a ring of drama to it's telling. This was a world removed from the normal ordinary lives of my acquaintance.

"When were you born?"

"Nineteen Seventy-Nine, I am twenty-seven, so you don't have to do the maths!" There was a trace of humour floating through his voice and suddenly his maturity fell into place. He was three years older then my twenty-four years on this planet, no wonder he seemed to handle situations differently from me.

"Did you know your mother was your mother, it wasn't kept a secret or anything like that?"

"Oh, aye, I knew, not that she did that much for me, although she was good fun to be around, or so it seemed at the time." He heaved a sigh. "I mean life would not have been very different for me then anyone else growing up in the early eighties around there, if it hadn't been that Granma was the religious type – staunch Catholic, old Highland family displaced to Glasgow about two hundred years ago," he flashed a smile when I opened my mouth to question. "Scots have very long memories, you would think the Jacobite uprising happened the other week if you to talk to some people."

I closed my mouth, realising that I was doing a rather good impression of a goldfish and waited for him to continue. "Anyway, Granma use to drag me along to church with her, being to all intents and purposes, the one raising me and somewhere along the line, it was realised that I could sing and sing rather well, so I started taking music lessons when I was five, given by the choir leader at the church and then at eight I won a place at St. Mary's Music School in Edinburgh and became a chorister at the cathedral. It was a huge boon because otherwise my life would have probably gone no where.

"My Mam finally married when I was at school and had Cam, my brother; when I was fifteen and he was so cool, really cute, thought he was wonderful. Only trouble was I hated her husband. He was scum, use to be a labourer at the dockyards and was bitter and twisted about the whole disintegration of the industry. Use to take it out on Mam as well. She often had a black eye. But, 'cause of how I was bought up, I continued to live with my Grandparents, didn't really see Mam as my Mother, well she wasn't."

I jumped up out of my chair, causing him to look up in surprise, pause in his muttered, fairly toneless monologue. I was brimming with questions, amazed at what I was hearing, confused and bemused by the situation of his upbringing, it made mine look as conventional as they came. "Hold on," I held up my hand to stop him, which was pointless, as he had stopped speaking and was now looking at me, a mixture of amusement and annoyance on his face.

The overhead light above the dinning table threw the sofas into shadow and in the soft glow, his twisted cheek seem to loom and grow over his face, distorted by the shadow of the scar and the bone structure in his cheek. "You were a chorister?"

"Aye, bloody good one at that – opened a couple of Christmas Carol concerts, recorded CDs, toured Europe."

"With the ruff and the gown and all that?"

"No, just red cassocks, thankfully. But yes, I was a boy chorister and then when my voice broke, I remained at the school and studied music and then went on to do it for a degree." His voice was quite calm, although there was a note of cockiness when he recited his achievements. I suppose they were quite amazing, especially given that he had not come from a musical family or been pushed into it.

"So if you don't mind me asking, how do you come to be sitting here, with- with that...?" I gestured to the mask on the table, "claiming that you want to be an Advocate and doing Children studies in London?"

"I was in the middle of telling you?" There was an icy note to his voice. "Shit Izzy, this is difficult enough without you jumping up and going off on one." He rested his head in a hand. "Don't suppose you have anything to drink?" I regarded him thoughtfully before wordlessly pouring him a glass of wine. Sometimes alcohol helped ease the telling, if not the pain.

"Sorry." I let the word escape quietly and resumed by place next to him. He snorted slightly and resumed his tale, although a little more comfortable, sitting back against the cushions, turned slightly to face me. I lapped up the tale.

"I decided to study music at Edinburgh. I had more or less grown up in the city and loved it. Home seemed very small and shabby compared to the places I had been, things I had done and I regret to say that I was embarrassed about my upbringing, my family. It was all too mundane and common and so it was easy to return home infrequently, distance myself from it all even though my grandparents were getting old, Cam was growing up and my stepfather kept disappearing from my mother's life, only to reappear just when she was getting herself back together."

"Did he hurt her?" I breathed the question, unable to ask it outright, scared for the answer.

"Yes." The word was so definite, so finite that it made me catch the breath in my throat. "Classic battered wife. Kept going back to him, claimed she loved him and I was too bloody caught up in my own stupid life to help her, to save..." At this, his voice broke and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the sofa, breathing in deeply through his nose, a lone tear leaking out from under his eyelid.

"Ric," I laid my hand on his, hoping to offer solace through my touch, scared to now hear more of the story, for I feared what the ending of the tale was, having half guessed it already.

"He killed her!" The words were forced out, small and alone. "I was home for the weekend and went to see her and Cam and he was there! Drunk. He had a knife and he slashed away at her. I tried to stop him and he turned on me and cut my face, tried to hurt Cam to, but he escaped, ran to Granma and called the police. He murdered her for no other reason then she said 'no' to him. And then when they got her to the hospital, the doctors found out she was pregnant, about twelve weeks and the baby died too. That man killed my mother and my brother and he got ten shitting years for it!"

It was too much; the tears flowed down his face unchecked, catching on that ugly scar, the constant reminder of the tragic situation. I took him into my arms, hugging him, rubbing his back, murmuring silly words as Anne used to do with me when my grief was all too raw. I could suddenly start to grasp why this man was so complex, why he seemed so tortured and possibly why I was so attracted to him.

Both of us had suffered huge lose in our lives, carried heavy burdens that made us stumble and trip on our paths. His tears had calmed and he lifted his face from my shoulder, his lips brushing against my cheek, seeking mine. And in the midst of such turbulence and pain, we kissed, he claiming support off me; whilst I offered him any strength that I had.

There was not much else I could do.


	16. Chapter 16

**A thousand apologies for the delay in posting this. Things went very manic in real life for a while and my inspiration just upped and left without a word of goodbye. Spent several days typing about one bad line and then erasing it and the ones before it. Hopefully given the hiatus the story will not have lost it's flow and many thanks for keeping with it. This is part 2 of Ric's anguish; defining who he is, so enjoy and I hope it won't be another month and a half before chapter seventeen - although lots of reviews do encourage me on. Pips xox**

Chapter Sixteen

We went to bed together. It was inevitable for we could not part having shared such a traumatic experience as the retelling of his story. It was not the breathless craving that had carried us forward a few nights ago, but rather the desire for companionship and the need for another presence in the room, to hold back the shadows of ghosts lurking in the corner.

We lay there side by side, my arm draped across his chest, my head in the crook of his arm, his arm around me, stroking my shoulder. It was not sexual; rather we drew comfort from each other being there. Outside the winter's night had started to rain and we lay in the dark listening to the sound of the water as it rattled on to the pavements, the hiss of car tyres as they hummed through the wet. It was incredibly peaceful and I whilst I was burning with questions, I did not think that I could break the silence that cocooned us.

His hand moved to stroke my hair, making me realise that he was as awake as I was. Sleep was not going to come easily tonight; memories had been dusted down and reawakened so that they once again dominated thoughts. "Do you know what scares me the most?" He finally volunteered to the silence. I shook my head and he sensed the movement. "I am forgetting. The pain is getting a little less, the hurt, it isn't so sharp anymore."

"Isn't that a good thing?" My words were whispered.

"Up until now I've used that pain, it's what's made me be able to continue with the study, to keep pushing even when I've wanted to give up. But recently, the past few months or so, I haven't been able to summon it in the same way and it's difficult."

"Is that why you want to become an Advocat, because of what happened to your Mother?"

"Yes and to my brother. They took him away you know, put him into care. Said that my grandparents were too old to look after him effectively - that he needed special care as he was traumatised. Surely your family are the best to offer that, not some total strangers! The fact that my grandparents had raised me counted for nothing!" I could hear the pitch of his voice raised and realised that this is what drove him. "Also women who suffer at the hands of their husbands, like my Mam did, they need protecting as well. They are still woefully vulnerable. Okay, a woman is thankfully no longer a man's property, but they still have to often stand there in court and face a man they never want to see again if they want any prosecution carried through. I want to make a difference to people like that, families torn apart, woman abused by their partners. That's why I need that anger, that pain, it connects me."

I remained silent for a moment, as I could literally feel the fury pouring off him in waves. It was a situation I could not fathom, for when life dealt me a difficult blow I crumbled under the weight and was only now potentially recovering to enjoy my life. Instead he has set out on a course that was obviously costing him dear, changing what his life was about in order to fulfil what he saw as a debt to his brother and mother.

Unable to voice my concerns and worries, I rose up and kissed him on the lips, trying to communicate the fact that we were together, even if nothing else was right. He returned the gesture and it seemed to soothe him a little for he relaxed and little by little we fell asleep.

I spent my lunch hour the next day quietly checking up on his story. It wasn't that I didn't believe him; the pain that I had seen in his eyes could not be faked. However there were aspects to his story that need verification. A trip to the huge HMV on Oxford Street at lunchtime found me in the classical department, looking up old recordings. I was slightly surprised when I found a CD of the choir I was looking for and stood there studying the grey picture of the choirboys on the front cover, attempting to match the childish features with the marred adult visage I was getting to know. I made my guess at the boy in the middle row, a certain cockiness in his stare that drew me in.

I had already found the archived paper clippings from The Scotsmen reporting the tragic death, although the facts were scanty. The main coverage seemed to be because the man who caused so much pain and ripped a family apart was bailed after a measly seven years in jail. No wonder Ric wanted to crusade against a system that allowed such lenience for criminals.

I tried not to let the discoveries and knowledge of last night mar my new found job and ability. It was difficult for it paraded through the back of my mind, disturbing my focus. Therefore the press releases I was writing remained unfinished and I reluctantly took my work home with me for the first time.

It was strange to come home to the flat and know that there was someone else there. This had always been my bolthole and whilst it could be lonely at times, living such a dual life as I did; it was refreshing to have somewhere I could simply be myself. Yet the man I had invited to live in my home (I would not say live with me – ground rules had not yet been established) knew me more intimately as any of the people I called my friends; apart from Mags.

I wandered in and called hello, hearing it echoed back to me and smiled at the mellow tone, a laziness floating through the tenor voice. However the view that greeted me at the table was anything but lazy. The surface was covered with a couple of huge files; a wonky tower of text books and confetti of scribbled notes. The owner of this plethora of material was sitting at a laptop, squinting slightly at the screen, his slightly astigmatic stare accentuated by a pair of glasses he wore on his unmasked face.

In some ways I was pleased, I had obviously crossed that border which meant he was comfortable taking the mask off in my presence. After all the dancing around and that the question had caused me, some straightforward asking had worked. "What are doing?" It was a silly question really for he was obviously deep in study.

"Huh?" He blinked slightly and looked at me, taking a second to focus on my face, as if he were surfacing from sleep. He had been so intent on his studies that he seemed to have lost focus of where he was.

"Obviously fascinating!" I continued with wry sarcasm, moving around him and leaning over his shoulder so that I could see what it was that he was working on. "That's not work!" His screen was open to some composing software, digital score paper holding clusters of notes that he had translated from some rough scribbles by his side.

"No," he pursed his lips, before letting the smile break out. "But it is a tune that has been nagging me for a while and if I didn't get it down, I would get no peace. However, now I'm not so sure, it doesn't seem to come out quite right!" He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "And besides, I am fed up of studying; it seems to be all I bloody ever do!"

I cast an oblique look at him. "Apart from singing in a band, busking and moving house you mean?"

"Well, yes, exactly!" Another long smile made me realise how much the mask hide them. Whilst none of the designs covered his mouth, it detracted from the way a smile curled out at the sides, crinkling up around his eyes, changing an otherwise severe face into something quite charming. At least, I found it so.

"So, as you have been so busy studying, have you managed any unpacking?" I called as I wandered off in the direction of my bedroom, taking a covert glance at what was his space.

"Ha, that was a back hander," the disgusted reply floated into my bedroom. "I've hung up my clothes and that is it. The scrap of a chair across the wooden floor alerted me to the fact that he had moved away from the table and I hastily changed, not wanting him to find me in a compromising position, I was unsure if that was something I wanted from him anymore. The instant lust seemed to no longer be rearing his head and I was unsure if it was sated after the weekend, or was just respecting the situation Ric and I were currently in. I hoped the later.

He rapped lightly on my door and pushed it open at my bidding, sticking his head around the planks. I tried not to let my disappointment show when his masked visage came into view. He had put it on again. Obviously we were not as far forward as I had hoped. "D'you want a cup of tea?"

"Hmm," I ignored the question and stretched, falling face down on the bed. "Tempted never to get up again!" My words were muffled by the duvet cover, so I propped my face in my hands and looked at him, ascertaining the difference in his appearance when half of it was covered. He stood in the space, his hands resting on his lean hips and looked down at me.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's an 'oh sod it', let's not be sensible, I can't be arsed to cook, shall we go out for pizza?"

"On a Wednesday night?"

"I said I didn't feel like being sensible. Besides, I'm not talking about a bender, more a simple meal and a glass of wine. Does it appeal?" He pursed his lips and nodded amiably.

"Pizza Express?"

"If you wish." I stood up and pushed my hair off my face. "Just have to quickly write some press releases, so about half an hour. Is there space for me on the table?" I walked over to the door and looked at the covered surface. "I think we might have to get you a desk!"

"I'll clear it, sorry." He apologised sincerely and I realised that he took my light hearted comment seriously. I wondered what that dreadful landlady had said to him at times as he swept the piles off the wood and carried them into his room, where, as far as I could see; he dumped them on the bed.

"And quite a few book shelves," I added as he came on a return trip. "Feel like going to IKEA at the weekend?"

"How horrifically domesticated," he replied in light-hearted disgust, filling his arms with more books and paper. "Next you will suggest we go to the park and have a picnic. My Gram will have us married off in two months in her mind at this rate!" He chuckled lightly and it warmed my heart to see him happier then the depressed figure of the past couple of days. Yet I did wonder if I scratch the surface, how deeply buried was all his pain and grief? I was sure it was deeper then mine.

Apart from the real truth that I could not be bothered to cook that evening, I did have the ulterior motive that I wished to ask Ric more about himself, also set some ground rules for us living together. It therefore seemed sensible to have the discussion on neutral territory. We sat in the corner, our steaming pizzas placed in front of us and an amused smile on my lips as waited impatiently for the waitress to stop fussing, so he could eat.

The gusto with which he attacked the piece of food was like watching a lion feeding. "Sorry," he apologised, swallowing an oversized mouthful. "Starving, forgot lunch! How's yours?"

"Very nice thank you," I took and exaggerated dainty bite, chewing it to a forty bite pulp before swallowing. It wrung a laugh from my dinner companion. "Not all of us need to eat like savages!"

"I have been called many things in my life before, but never a savage!" His lips turned up in a smile and I could see that he was in good humour."

"Such as?"

"Oh well freak, weirdo the obvious," he said with a vague gesture towards his face and then bastard more times then I can care to mention, although cannot really argue as it is accurate."

"I don't think they were saying it because of the situation of your birth though?"

"No, but it is quite a good way of taking the wind out of a ranting woman's sails, by agreeing with them! Anyway, what else? Vain, which I happen to disagree with, self-indulgent, which is very hard to agree or disagree with, either way I am doing myself a disservice. Um, care to add anymore?" He laughed lightly, throwing the conversation over to me.

"Good at winding people up, or rather me, but I can't think of an adjective to describe that."

"Winder-upper?"

"Never heard that word before and I've have half an English degree!" I laughed and lightly smacked his arm in a playful gesture. "Guess I could therefore be called a dropout!"

"How about kind, thoughtful, generous..." He trailed off; a grin dancing around his lips, although his eyes were serious. I couldn't tell if he was in jest or not.

"You're getting me muddled with someone else," I muttered faintly, not use to such praise. "That isn't me."

"Aye it is!" His smile faded when he saw me brush away his comment and he grabbed my hand over the small table. "You were kind enough to give me money when you though I was a busker, you invited me to stay and helped me sort out that landlady from hell. You slogged out to Richmond to hear the band play. A lot of people wouldn't do that you know Izzy!"

"I pulled your mask off your face when you offered me a night of security, I made you confess to your deepest secrets when you were down, rather then respect your privacy," I started on a litany of my faults with him, but he waved them away with an impatient gesture of his free hand.

"Oh come on Iz, those are minor things and I okay, I was pissed off with the mask, but it's forgiven and forgotten, so don't beat yourself up over it. At the end of the day it's my problem and I should deal with it better then I do."

"Can I ask a question that you might not want to answer then?" I drew courage from his positive attitude. He nodded with a wry smile. "Why do you actually wear a mask? Where did it come from? I mean is it a medical thing or was it or..?" I trailed off, my question unformulated and I stumbled over asking it, unsure how to word what I wanted to know? He gazed at me with narrow lips and a blank stare, something I was beginning to recognise as his way of considering his reply. Passive on the surface, his brain was working overtime summing up the pros and cons.

"A bit of both. Well, no that is simply an excuse." He sighed and shoved another mouthful of pizza in, buying himself some time by eating. "What you can't see is that although he managed to get the edge of my face, he continued to try and hurt me, slashed away, so the scars are also on my ribs and he managed to get me there." The playful tone was lost, he was once again drowning in the memories, memories I had forced him to recall.

"Ric, it doesn't....." I started to speak, but he cut me off.

"Yes it does, it obviously does or you wouldn't ask. It does mean a lot to you and considering the kindness you have shown me, I can at least respect your right to know!" He hissed the words and I shrunk back slightly for there was venom in his voice. Not directed at me, but rather at the jarring memories dancing around in his head.

"He stabbed me between the ribs, could have killed me as easily as he did my mother except it glanced off one of my bones. As it was, I apparently lost too much blood and they rushed me off to hospital. I just remember waking up in a bed with all this gauze over my face and feeling like fire was in my lungs as I tried to breath. And yet the thing I remember in the greatest detail, is Gram sitting there saying her rosary! It was a black one; the beads were ebony and had a little silver chain linking them together and an elaborate silver cross. Weird how you remember something so minor and not other major details, isn't it?"

My appetite has vanished as I heard his story out. This was the side to it that made and moulded him into the person sat before me and in a brief flash of clarity, the sarcasm and diffident treatment became understandable, it was his way of detaching himself from a situation. "How long were you in hospital, how long did it all...." I seemed incapable of finishing my sentences. The weight of emotion bore down on me making it impossible to eat, difficult to think clearly.

"I was in hospital for a couple of weeks and then convalescing at home for a while after. It took three weeks for the coroner to release Mum's body, so they discharged me for the funeral, but apart from that I don't think I left the house for months, at least not without my grandparents physically pulling me out of the door, which meant that I flunked my degree, well delayed it really. All I could think was that my face and the scars it was just punishment for what had happened; my behaviour." He shrugged as if the thought did not cut him to the very depths of his being.

All around us the restaurant was filling up with happy couples, partners, friends all looking for an easy meal and a night out, yet in the corner I could sense that a man's world had fallen apart. He was deep in his emotions, reflecting the state of last night and I could not help that massive guilt that sat on me for demanding that he once again revisit such a horrific place.

"Seriously Ric, please don't," I started again, filled with guilt over what I was putting him through.

"You wanted to know didn't you?" He snarled, the anger that had been in his tone, surfacing. "Now listen!" His jaw worked furiously, his Adam's apple bobbing with frustration as he swallowed. "There was no way I could go back to Uni, finish being a happy irresponsible student when my life and my grandparent's life had been destroyed. I knew that all I wanted to do was finish that bastard of a man off and make him pay for all that he had done to me and my family.

Trouble was, he was in jail and so it simply wasn't practical to break in and kill him, tempting though it was. When his case came to court, it generated a lot of media interest, the trial lasted over a week and I was there everyday, listening to every word and it was then, as I heard the actuary's arguing over the detail that I realised what I could do to effectively bury this man!" He swallowed again.

"Where did the children's law come in to it?" I breathed the question and he looked up at me sharply.

"I told you last night, the double blow came that they took my brother away as well. I found it all hard to deal with – imagine my grandparents, they loose their daughter, their grandson and the other is well; let's just say I didn't deal with it as well as they did. Gram turned to her religion and that helped her, I turned to the bottle and drugs, both of which are far too easy to get hold of where I lived."

"Is that why you are so against getting drunk now? I mean that night when you thought I was and got kinda' mad, were you an alcoholic then?"

"No, no," he shook his head. "It never got that much of a foothold on me, mainly once again thanks to the determination of my grandparents. They forced me to go back to Uni that September. Literally forced me, got in their car, which they hardly ever drove anywhere and took me back to Edinburgh and carried my stuff into my house and unpacked for me – as if I were seven or something! And to add insult to injury arranged that I had to report in to the nurse every week, so they could keep an eye on me. Oh yup, that was a wake up call!" His shoulders started to shake slightly with repressed mirth and I marvelled at how quickly he changed his demeanour. Gram is one stubborn lady I tell you and as she said 'God's taken my eldest, I am dammed if you will go to the devil and let them both win'." His voice mimicked that of a broad Glaswegian lady, at odds with his softer spoken lilt. "So she socially managed it so that I had to go to lectures and had to face up to what my life was all about – which was rather shit really. Like I said, the case had attracted a lot of media interest in Scotland and suddenly everyone knew who I was 'the kid with the slashed up face' was one description I heard. It was soul destroying and I couldn't escape this nagging feeling that my degree was pointless. So what the fuck that I could identify the exact period of Bach piano sonata and transcribe it for the violin to play – it wasn't solving world peace or the horrific truth about my mother's death and Cameron's removal!"

"Is that why you started to wear a mask then? Or was it earlier?"

"Actually it was Jim's idea! We had started a band as freshers and yeah it was popular. Anyway, he wanted to continue playing and I said there was no bloody way I was getting up on stage in front of everyone. The argument back was that I couldn't be replaced, no one had my style of voice – I mean classically trained but singing rock, which is a load of bollocks by the way, plenty people do. Anyway," he waved a hand in the air, all signs of his former agitation vanished; it was almost as if he were repeating the plot of a movie. "Where was I?"

"Couldn't be replaced as a signer." I helpfully supplied.

"Precisely. So anyway Jim's dissertation was on the domination of musicals in popular culture, or something dodgy like that, think he just wanted to have and excuse to go the theatre and no discussion of stage musicals is complete without reference to Andrew Lloyd Weber!"

"And the Phantom of the Opera," I breathed! His face relayed that I was on the right track.

"Result is he comes back from one of his little jaunts to London with a Phantom mask and hands it to me, saying I could now hide my musical genius behind a mask!"

My mouth dropped open at the statement, amazed that someone could have so little tact, be so abrupt in their communication, especially with a friend who had suffered a blow such as Ric had. "What did you say?"

"I didn't, I punched him!" The dry reply came, although the warm humour laced through his voice again. "Actually gave him concussion. It is the only time I can truly say that I have pride in excessive violence! Aye, the man's a tosser, but he's also a good mate and he meant well. So I started wearing it when I was singing and noticed a change in the girl's attitude, they liked the mystery of it all. That meant that my ego was boosted enough to start wearing it when I went out and once again you could see a change in people's attitudes. Without the mask I was this kid whose Mother had been murdered, people knew facts about me, with it on, well, let's just say people saw me and took the view that 'anyone who is insane enough to wear a mask in public should be treated with a degree of respect'. One thing led to another and over the months I got into the habit of wearing it all the time. Redefined who I was from the injured kid, to the guy in the mask you don't fuck with! Simple."

"So you chose to wear it and got more made. Is that why some look more...comfortable then others?" He nodded openly. "Yeah I invested in a few handmade ones, which are on the expensive side, but it's worth it. Cost less then my lifelong output of underpants!"

"But," I couldn't keep the comment in. "You have moved down to London and no one knows who you are anyway, so you don't have to wear it!" The words rushed out in a torrent and he looked at me with a chiding glance.

"You don't get it Izzy; I choose to wear it because I want to wear it. The mask is now me, simple!" The words were definite finite and I realised that I would not have strength or power to convince him otherwise. This was not a situation he wanted rescuing from and I felt a small bubble of hope in me disintegrate. He wasn't the Phantom of the Opera and I was not his muse who could rescue or abandon him by her actions. This guy had his life plan sorted.

With a startled glance at my watch, I realised that time had marched away. So enwrapped in his story, my pizza now sat before me, cold and only half eaten. Ric had found the time and stomach to eat his, but it was still past ten. With a hurried air, I paid the bill and we walked back home, silent in our thoughts, too worn out with the conversation over dinner to bother making small talk now.

In the living room, he turned away. "Thanks for that Izzy," he said softly.

"What, the pizza? No problem!"

"The pizza and being a good listener. It's a story that needs telling and yet I hate doing it." He smiled weakly and bent over to kiss my cheek. Instead I turned and his kiss landed on my lips. We parted and the momentary shock in his eyes cleared when he saw that the move had been intentional on my part. Encouraged he went in for another go, lightly brushing his lips over mine before his tongue gained entry. The kiss was light and loving, friendly and warming and when he stepped back I felt lost.

"No wait," I held out my hand to him. "Come to bed with me Ric."


	17. Chapter 17

**Okay I know I said it wouldn't be so long until the next chapter and I was right - it's been even longer! So I won't keep you - bit of a filler this one - gets the plot moving! Please review, Pips**

Chapter Seventeen

There was no denying it anymore, it was now fully winter. The weather had degenerated into a series of cloudy damp days with no retribution from the constant dank greyness that hung over London like a wet blanket. The shops were full of Christmas trees, cards and presents, trying to get people to focus their attention on the event in only five weeks time; whilst the rest of humanity struggled with the dark nights and short days of November.

I included myself in that depressing figure of people who suffered at the hands of the brief sun-deprived daylight hours, quite the opposite of my housemate of five weeks, who seemed remarkably unaffected by the seasonal disorder I was suffering. On the one occasion I dared moan to him about the depression of winter, he impatiently waved my comment off; telling me to stop being a southern pansy – not very supportive or helpful; although seemingly typical.

He was fully ensconced in my house and my life, no way of getting rid of him now and I don't think I would have wanted to if the opportunity arose. Having gone from living by myself for so long, I had forgotten the sheer pleasure of companionship – having someone else in the rooms, talking; laughing and just being.

He was good for me. The embarrassing and difficult situation of his mask wearing and future aside, he was actually quite uplifting and cheering company – most of the time. There had been a couple of black days when he had withdrawn into himself, talking little and choosing to spend hours alone in his room, but most of the time we were in each other's company, although not quite together.

It was true that there were occasions when we shared a bed, seeking refuge from the darkness that held court in the night, once it even went as far as sex, but it was only companionship that he wanted and I sought, the breathless, knee clenching passion was no longer there, buried deep and asleep.

I had started to learn about the pattern to his days, the order of his life. There were days when he rose at the same time as me, appearing suited and booted early in the morning, a model of gentleman's propriety; except that he wore it with the brooding black half mask. This was when he worked in a solicitor's office, gaining valuable experience towards his degree and chosen career path. In a more slobbish student mode, he might stumble out of his bedroom as I was leaving for work, vaguely awake; usually unmasked and blinking in an owlish demeanour through his glasses at the grey morning light.

The third side was that of the rock musician; a manifestation that always set my heart racing. He seemed to be at ease in this roll, one he suited and filled to the core. Behind the torn t-shirts, kohl lined eyes and leather trousers he seemed to find himself – through singing, flirting, playing his music – I don't know. I would come home from work to the sound of him warming up his voice; the lyrical notes floating through the rooms.

He would emerge with flowing strides, a look of peace on his face, often give me a huge lip smacking kiss and be on his way to whatever venue they were playing at for the evening. Compared to the sarcastic, angst ridden person I normally lived with, it was like seeing a soul transformed.

I hadn't been to any of his gigs since he moved in with me. I felt as if I needed some space between us and more importantly knew that the attraction I felt towards him awoke when I heard him perform. Easier not to put myself in that situation, instead remain the happy but disinterested housemate, who felt nothing for the man who shared in my living space.

On the nights he performed he would stumble in late into the darkened flat. I purposefully would go to bed early, not wanting to accidentally bump into him and let it lead to other things. So I would listen to him crash around, occasionally singing under his breath and not relax until his snores filled the air.

And so that is how we happily bumped along for the past month and a bit – by me trying very hard not to try and love him. In truth I was disappointed that the situation has worked out in such a way, for if I was honest with myself I had harboured a secret fantasy about moving my boyfriend into my rooms.

Yet if my love life had stagnated into a casual friendship, my work was taking off in leaps and bounds. I was the new rising star at FF and it was quite a ride. Finally after months of plodding along, bored to tears, I was suddenly able to experience the more glamorous side of public relations. I had recently been appointed two of my own Account executives to do the gopher work that always arose with each new client. So instead of making the phone calls, sending endless e-mails and chasing disappearing journalists, I got to write, suggest and design.

For once my talents were put to use. The artistic streak that had buried itself after GCSE art awoke in me and suddenly helping to design set pieces for publishing groups and layout for advertorials was as enjoyable as writing. As my confidence at work grew, so did my confidence in all that I said and did. No longer the shy retiring one, I started to shine.

Of course with the added responsibility and promotion came a lot of extra work. No longer was I the first out the office and into the pub, instead leaving at seven or eight was more typical. And on that wintery evening it was pushing nine by the time I walked through my front door.

"Hello," I shouted to the space, my way of ascertaining if I was alone or not, listening for a reply. It took a moment to occur, replacing the low hum of conversation that filled the silence instead.

"Hello," It came after a few moments, distracted in its tone. Curiosity piqued I wandered through into the living room, stopping in the doorway in surprise as there sat on my sofa and chairs was Ric and a couple of other people. Of course he knew other people, for he interacted with the world at large – despite being a personal Phantom for me, he did not shun society. But to see them in my flat – his flat – he never bought anyone home with him, either in friendship or more. Of course, in hindsight it could have been because he had only just started to feel comfortable with living there.

"Iz!" He smiled up at me. I resisted the urge to snarl back as I looked at the most incredibly beautiful woman who was currently snuggled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, although her body turned to face the occupant who was currently sitting in my armchair. She looked very Gaelic, with huge blue eyes and long dark hair flowing over her tiny little shoulders. With a certain effort of will I smiled sweetly, despite really wanting to bare my teeth.

"Hello!" At least the woman had manners to sit up at my greeting and smile back at me, showing off pretty white straight teeth.

"Jim and Alanya," Richard waved a vague hand at them by way of introduction. "And you two, Izzy my landlady!" At that label I did snarl at him, trying to inject a degree of humour, although I did not like the name he had called me. "What?" he laughed as he caught sight of my expression.

"Don't call me a landlady; it conjures up images of grey hair in curlers and baggy stockings!"

"And what would you rather be referred to as? Apart from goddess of course?" I hesitated at his question, for although he asked in jest, to say 'friend' in front of these people who obviously were, might make me appear very pathetic. I needed to choose my words very carefully.

"Oh just, gracious owner of these hallowed walls, would be fine," I adopted his flippant tone. "Anyway, please excuse me a moment." And with those words I shot them a vague smile and went into my bedroom, firmly closing the door to discourage any visits.

In truth I was peeved that there were people there. It was the middle of the week, I was tired and I craved my space. I had hoped Ric might even be out this evening, so that I could chill and mush out in peace. I wanted toast and to curl up on the sofa in front of the TV, not have a house full of people I didn't know.

I huffed and sighed my way out of my work clothes and into a comfortable t-shirt and sweatpants, as usual, pausing in my actions. Whilst this was normal habit for me – I usually changed for a slobby evening at home – to behave so in front of total strangers. I hesitated, debating getting changed back into what I was wearing; wondering if that was too shallow. My decision making was interrupted by a knock at the door, breaking into my thoughts.

"Izzy," Richard stuck his head around the door, his grin vanishing as I shot him a warning look filled with the distress I was feeling. "Iz, what's the matter?" He walked in and shut the door behind him as if he could sense my distress. "Is it Alanya and Jim, I'm sorry I should have asked if it was okay for them to come over, I didn't think you'd mind." There was wariness in his apology that made me briefly close my eyes, questioning my own intolerance. It was not fair, I invited him to live here and I couldn't now put conditions on his residency.

"No, you don't need to ask. I'm just tired so it was a bit of a shock." With a start I realised that I was standing there in my jogging bottoms and bra, my t-shirts bunched up around my wrists, as I had paused for thought before putting it on. I hurriedly pulled it down over my head and asked the true question that bugged me. "So how do you know them?"

"Jim's the band leader!" His voice carried a note of strained shock, but I refused to look at him properly, knowing he was far too perceptive and would pick up on my unease. "You've seen him play – lead guitar."

"It is a bit different when you are up on stage versus sitting in my living room," I snapped slightly. "Even you look different up there!" Another sigh escaped my lips. "And Alanya?" My annoyance stretched the syllables of her name. Stupid for immediately Ric picked up on it and laid a hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him.

"Izzy, what's wrong?" I looked up to face him, trying to stop the tears that were swimming in my eyes , hoping in the dim light of the room he wouldn't notice. No such luck! He lifted a hand to my eyes, gently brushing away the moisture that spilt onto my cheek. "Alanya is Jim's girlfriend," he answered my wordless question. "They have been together forever and so I've known her since I was seventeen. She is like a sister to me!"

"Oh!" I bit my lip, feeling like a total idiot having obviously shown the direction in which my heart lay. There was no way he couldn't know now! "I didn't..." I trailed off and with a deep breath, looked at the floor attempting to control my tears.

"That's okay. It's very nice to have someone get jealous for you though!" he laughed slightly and his gentle teasing caused me to slap him on the arm, my gentle crying changing to giggles.

"I am not jealous, just tired and it is very hard to see such a beautiful specimen of humanity sitting in my living room when I feel like a blimp!" I lied hastily, trying to hide my emotions. "She rocked my self-esteem a bit, that's all!"

"Aye she is a bit of a stunner isn't she?" Richard agreed with me, running a hand in a comforting gesture down my hair. "Trouble is, I don't see her like that anymore, kinda' forget. Besides, she is a model, so you expect her to be gorgeous. Tell you what – she isn't that clever. Only got a third!" His comment wrenched another woeful laugh from me.

"So she is beautiful but stupid you are saying. Some friend you are! I hate to see what you tell people about me!"

"That you are a dreadful landlady," he teased, moving his hand under my hair, cupping the back of my head. "And can't hold your drink." He moved forward and lightly kissed me on the lips, coaxing a smile from them. "Come on Iz, cheer up and come out and meet them, they are nice people."

Strangely enough, after that I did end up having a good evening. Ric was right, for they were very pleasant company, friendly and glad to be invited to join in an evening and be served supper (defrosted lasagne – but they didn't complain). It was interesting to witness the change around my flatmate when in the presence of his true friends. There was a certain sarcastic teasing and he still enjoyed trumping their efforts at belittling him – especially Jim, but gone was the angst ridden soul. For once I witnessed the man as he truly was.

"Tell you what Isabelle," Jim leant back in his chair, testing it's stability on his lanky frame. "I think you should do some PR for the band!"

"Shut it Jim," his friend warned him, flicking his arm in a gesture of annoyance. "I told you to stop going on about that."

"No, hear me out on this one – we are good – we know that, our audiences know that, Alanya knows that, right love?" His girlfriend nodded in mute agreement, the arching of her perfectly plucked eyebrows indicating that she had heard this conversation before, no doubt many times. "The trouble is people out there don't know about us and how do you bridge that gap – advertise yourself, PR yourself. That's the reason Simon Cowell's acts do so well. It is not sheer bloody talent but the fact that are sold to the public at large!"

"I don't have quite the same ability as Pop Idol," I spoke, startling even myself at the comment. "I can send out press releases and get you in touch with the right journalists, but I cannot make the grass grow!"

"In the same way I can set you up with photographers, but at the end of the day it is still up to you!" Alanya spoke patiently, almost as if she were lecturing a small child. "Your heart has to be in it – all of your hearts," I noticed her gaze slide over to Ric, who was passively twiddling his cutlery, taking no forward role in the conversation. "Being recognised is a long hard slog and you are only halfway there – and to say halfway is being generous. Is it really what you want?"

"To be up there – to fill Wembley with a band! Who doesn't want that?"

"That was the dream seven years ago Jim," Richard finally spoke in a low voice. "Haven't you grown out of that yet?" He stopped fiddling with this place setting and braced his chin on his hands. "Do you really think that _Cluinn_ is still destined for world domination?" At the question it was clear that Jim was becoming seriously annoyed.

"Fucking do!" he snapped. "As you used to; before you became all holier then thou and into your law shit! You make a crap lawyer Ric; you're far too up your own arse these days! But you make a sodding good singer, shitty attitude aside that is!" He turned pleading eyes towards me, filled with hope and despair and in a second I realised what this venture meant to him. "You've seen us play Isabelle, tell him it's true!"

I hesitated, being thrown into the deep end and my eyes skittered between the two men sat across the table from me. Ric expression, half hidden by a domino mask seemed indifferent, although the thin set of his mouth suggested he was rapidly on the way to being very pissed off. In contrast Jim held a puppy dog's hope, begging to give the answer he wanted.

"Yes, Ric is good – very good." I laughed slightly as Jim let out a slight whoop of delight. "But then I've never seen him build or defend a case, so cannot comment on how he would be as a lawyer."

"Almost spoken like one yourself." Ric interjected. "Very diplomatic and delightfully vague."

"No, more like someone in PR, able to put a positive spin on everything. We can even say hardened criminals are just 'misunderstood'." I gave a short laugh, directed at myself. "Anyway, can I just ask; do you, _Cluinn_ I mean; are you signed to a record label? Have you an agent?" Jim opened his mouth with a deep breath and Alanya simply sighed, plonking her chin on her fist in a bored stance. I evidently had asked the wrong question and looked at Ric across the table for some guidance.

"When hell freezes over," he muttered with a subtle nod in the direction of his bandmate before standing up with authority, not even letting Jim start on what would obviously be a dinner party destroying soliloquy. "Right, let's show Izzy what she's missing, shall we Jimbo?" His voice was authorative, the slight burr phased out in the authority of his words.

"Bloody hell yes," Jim closed his mouth, finishing his impression of a goldfish and stood up. My gaze skittered from man to man, standing there all denim and pouts at my table. It was a sight to appreciate and with a brief glance to the other woman, sat next to me, I could tell she thought the same. They didn't look that similar, although both had a certain athletic leanness with the muscle framing the limbs rather then providing a solid wall. Ric was slightly taller and wore his hair longer but both of them had a certain air about them, arrogance mixed with an assurance about themselves that somehow drew the women in – or at least the two in front of them.

A smile played around Ric's lips as he saw the direction of my gaze – at it scanned both Jim and he up and down. Suddenly with a quick jerk of his head he moved off into his bedroom, his friend following in his wake, leaving Alanya and I alone at the table.

Realising that sitting there and drooling was not the definition of a good hostess, I clicked back into action, jumping up and clearing the plates, trying to tidy up the detritus of the meal. As I was loading the dishwasher, Alanya came into the kitchen, glasses in hand. I murmured thanks as she put them on the worksurface and leant back against it, surveying me as I scraped and piled and wiped, fully aware of my red face and tatty jogging bottoms next to her casual but elegant loveliness.

"You're fond of Ric aren't you?" She said suddenly, causing me to jump up and pay attention to what she said, trying not to babble denial at her comment. Instead I remained silent and eyed her warily, not sure where the conversation would lead. "Which is a good thing," she added decisively when I made no attempt to continue the conversation. "He needs people to be fond of him!"

"Why?" My voice was husky and guarded.

"I've known him since Uni, I mean we met in those first few weeks when many friendships are made and broken. And he and Jim have known each other longer – they met at some music competition when they were both at school and ended up doing music degrees together." She shook her head as if she didn't mean to offer so much information.

"So you knew him before," I made a swiping gesture at his face, not voicing what I meant but Alanya gave a quick little nod.

"Yes. He was a very different person then as well," a note of sadness in here voice piqued my curiosity. "He's changed a lot, more closed, harder – apart from the sarcasm, he's always been sarcastic, but it use to be humorous – now it's all too real. And that bloody thing he insists on wearing, it scares people off, keeps them away, so yes, he's alone and he needs someone to be fond of him."

She bit her lip as if suddenly unsure about the amount of information she has willingly volunteered. I stood there digesting what she said, but before I was able to formulate any sensible questions, she gave a shy smile and disappeared back into the living room. I threw down my damp tea towel, grabbed another bottle of wine and went to join her, waiting to see what the boys were up to. The noise of a guitar being tuned was adding background noise and I when I went out Jim and Richard were sitting together on the couch, Ric with a guitar on his lap.

"The audience is waiting," Alanya commented as I took a seat, causing the boys to look up from the sheet of music they had been genially arguing over.

"Right, okay." Jim cleared his throat and flashed a smile at his girlfriend. "For your entertainment tonight, a few illegally borrowed songs that you may recognise and two totally new ones, written by our very own Richard Stewart. So ladies please put your hands together for a little bit of a _Cluinn_!" The flourish in his voice made us realise his introduction was at an end and we clapped enthusiastically.

I watched as Jim leant over and picked up a second guitar from next to the sofa (didn't realise he was toting one around with him) and started to play, Ric joining in a few bars later.

_I used to rule the world_

_Seas would rise when I gave the word..._

I gave a small smile at their choice of song – of course, a cover of the one of the most popular songs of last year that had been played everywhere! Jim sung and his voice was pleasant warm, undemanding, suiting the style of the music. I sat back and listened, watched the way the two performers interacted and played their instruments. Ric joined in at the chorus, the two tenor voices blending together in perfect harmony until the end of the song, when the ad hoc audience applauded appropriately.

"Thank you," Jim smiled warmly at our response and I realised he soaked up the warmth and cheer like a sponge. I realised then he was the driving force behind this group, for he was the junky of the response from the crowd. "And next..."

"A request?" I bargained from the other side of the coffee table.

"Request?" I saw Richard's eyebrow raise in query a slight grin peek out the side of his mouth. "Depends what it is? Do we know how to play it? Our repertoire is limited you know!"

"Bollocks!" Alanya interjected from the other chair. "Don't believe him Isabelle. As long as he has heard something more then once, he can play it from ear. Actually, he probably only needs to hear things once come to think of it!" She turned to face me. "What do you want them to play?"

"D'you know this one?" He launched into playing a song and singing along with apparent ease, no music evident.

_Everytime I close me eyes_

_Its you and now I know_

_Who I am_

I smiled to myself, for I could tell he knew. I had been playing that song only the other evening, singing along to myself as I got changed, unaware that he had been home. He had forced my hand and I joined in with him in the chorus.

_There's a place I go_

_When I'm alone_

_Do anything I want_

_Be anyone I wanna be_

_But it is us I see_

_And I cannot believe I'm fallin_

_That's where I'm goin_

_Where are you goin_

_Hold it close won't let this go_

_Dream catch me, yea_

_Dream catch me when I fall_

_Or else I won't come back at all_

As so we sang along for the rest of the song, our voices rising and falling in harmony, our eyes never leaving one another, totally unaware of the other two people in the room. It was only as the song came to an end, Ric stopped playing that I heard voices interjecting into the little cocoon I had created. "Izzy, babe, you have one set of pipes on you!" Jim broke me reverie and I looked up blushing.

"I, um, used to love to sing – just haven't properly, not for a long time." I flicked my gaze over to Ric. Did he realise the significance of the words we had just sung? Was this his way of telling me something or was I just being a typical woman and reading far too much into the situation?

I had always loved music and singing, it was impossible not to with my mother around. Whilst she was mainly an actress, her love of the stage had it's foundations in singing, rather then acting and so, not unlike Ric, I had been coached in voice from an early age. It had been another thing to end suddenly with her death and neglected ever since.

"You should continue, take lessons," Ric's voice gruffly interrupted and I waited for some sign that he had been moved by my performance. "You are out of practice, but you could be singing a lot more then pop songs with some training under your belt!"

"And you'll teach me?" I flung out sarcastically, not expecting him to answer, annoyed at his criticism rather then praise.

"S'pose I could, if you really wanted to learn!" It was offhand and non-committal, thrown down in a casual way that made me narrow my eyes at him and rise to the challenge.

"Okay then, as you are such a superior teacher, Richard!" I enunciated his name with a little more venom then I truly felt, ire raised by his casual attitude to a talent I had once possessed. "Jim, Alanya, you can bear witness to this for us. Ric will teach me to sing – _properly_" I said with sarcasm. "By, let's say Christmas – five weeks and I promise to stand up in front of whatever ad hoc audience you can gather and sing a Christmas carol to you all! How does that sound?"

"You do realise that you are making a deal with the devil?" Was the sound warning I got from his female friend. "Be careful as he won't like to loose or be made a fool of!" I waved away her counsel, too set on my course of action.

"Great! Have every faith in you Izzy!" Jim laughed. "Leave the audience to me and you get on with your training. I'm sure Ric will whip you into shape, smooth out those top notes. Although Lany is right – he's a right bastard, will put you through your paces!" He laughed again, although I was not sure if it was at me, the situation or the idea of Richard training me.

"Well, as you are all so confident in my abilities as teacher," the man in the bet drawled. "I had better start now." He sat up and looked directly at me. "Which means you better hie it off to bed Isabelle, it's gonna' be a late night tomorrow! And Jim, you can bugger off at the same time as well – it's nearly midnight and our diva needs to let her pipes rest."

My eyebrows rose at his rude way of speaking to his friend and more to me, although Jim and Alanya seemed unaffected by it obviously use to his uncharming manner. And with that the impromptu dinner party broke up, people taking their leave, leaving me alone with Ric in the flat, a rather odd promise hanging in the air between us.

"If you don't want to..." I started once we were alone, but he stopped me with a shake of his head, walked over and took me into his arms.

"Do you really want to? Want me to coach you? You have talent Izzy, but it's neglected. If you want to continue to hum along to pop tunes then you're fine, but if you want to make something of your voice – that can be done also." He reached up and ran a hand down my face and I gazed up into his eyes, hypnotised by the desire that I saw in them.

"I have a job," I spoke softly.

"I am talking about you having a gift that no one can take from you, which you can make into a career or keep for pleasure. That will always be yours." His tone dropped and he bent his head, his lips brushing against mine, coaxing them open to imprint a kiss.

All I could do was nod mutely in agreement.

* * *

**The songs quoted are:**

** Viva la Vida by Coldplay from the album Viva la Vida Or Death and All His Friends**

**Dreamcatcher by Newton Faulkner from the album Hand Built by Robots**


	18. Chapter 18

**At last, another chapter! But then I have been on holiday (on a boat - can't take laptop with me) so forgive me, enjoy and please review!**

Chapter Eighteen

There was a vague commotion at the end of the office, someone demanding a meeting and I glanced up briefly from my work to look at who it was. Unable to view clearly and sure that I had no meeting scheduled so late; I returned my attention to the function timetable that I was wading through – trying to slot in moments where I could push a brand product. The event was a huge PR drive, masquerading as a Christmas party – not my idea of fun.

"Ready to go?" The gruff voice made me look up again in surprise, my mouth dropping open as I looked at Ric standing in front of my desk, glowering at me. He must have been making the noise!

"What are you doing here?" Stupid question really, given our bargain last night, but I hadn't expected him to turn up in my office, less then twenty-four hours later.

"I have booked a rehearsal room at college for an hour this evening. Come, we don't want to be late!" He jerked his head in the direction of the door, half-turned as if he expected me to simply stand up and follow him.

"Excuse me!" Anger was the first emotion that settled in my seething feelings. "You can't just turn up here and dictate commands at me. I am in the middle of something, not ready to go home yet."

"You are the one who agreed to do this. Now is the time if you are still willing?" There was a taunt in his voice and I tried my hardest not to rise, knowing that it was the truth, so instead carefully cleared my desk and shut my computer down; trying to gain valuable thinking time.

"You could have at least sent me a text and given me some prior warning. This is the twenty-first century you know. Communication is the key!" I laid on the sarcasm because frankly I didn't feel like marching over to the college in the cold of an evening to take singing lessons with a man who was obviously not in the best of moods.

"And given you the chance to say no and pull out with stupid excuses of being too busy!" His tone mocked my comment and I glared at him as I thrust my arms into my coat and gathered up my bag. We bickered all the way out of the office, so engrossed in our conversation that I forgot to say goodbye to my colleagues. Ric had a way of raising my hackles and he was in full domineering male mode.

I was thoroughly pissed off, fed up and annoyed by the time we had reached the small box like room. It had obviously been decorated for privacy and not comfort, containing no more then an abandoned chair and a somewhat battered upright piano. The solo window of frosted glass gave a distorted view of a brick wall, so there was nothing to distract the attention of whoever chose to use it.

"We have an hour," was Ric's opening comment as he dropped his bag on the floor, shrugged out of his coat and draped it across the chair. He crossed to the piano, lifted the lid and sat down on the stool in front, his hands sweeping over the keys, before he depressed them in a series of tuneful chords.

I stood by the door, anger melting away as I watched him. I had never seen him with the instrument before, there wasn't one in my house and too see how he approached it, like a man reconnecting with a lost love. As he began to play I loosened up, the fight going out of me and I too put my handbag next to his bag, took my coat off and approached the piano, leaning on the side.

"I never knew you could play," I remarked as he stopped and looked up at me. He shot me a look of derision.

"Isabella, I have a music degree, how the hell do you think I got through that without playing the piano?" The way he phrased the question I instantly felt stupid, but held my ground.

"You play the violin and the guitar; I didn't know you could also play the piano." He sighed and wiped an absent forearm over his mask, pushing away some of the moisture that had gathered as little beads of water.

"No, s'pose not. We actually had to learn two instruments at school and I chose the piano and the violin. It was so long ago; I can barely remembering learning how to play them. Anyway," he glanced up at me, sternness filling his face again. "Stop distracting me, we are here to see if you can sing as you claim!"

"I thought it was to see if you could teach me to sing as you claim!" I shot back cheekily. There was no way I was letting him get the upper hand here.

"Depends if I have the right raw material or not." Only the grin that he delivered the comment with stopped me from punching him, but his attention had diverted back to the lesson. "Right start easy with a major basic scale." He pressed the first note out on the piano and sung it easily, before nodding that I should copy him. My voice wavered slightly more in nervousness then strain, for it was an easy Doh, Re, Mi that he had asked me to sing.

He nodded in accordance and instructed me to sing it twice over; his whole expression showed that he was listening keenly. After scales we did ascending and descending scales, arpeggiation and octaves and somehow forgotten training reasserted itself and Ifound myself meeting the boundaries that Ric kept raising, until I hit a high E and my voice finally cracked.

I stopped with a slight giggle and turned to look directly at him for the first time in over forty minutes. Forty minutes! I could not believe that time had passed so quickly and the lessons that I had been dreading had grown wings. "Now what?" I asked, not sure if we were to come to an end or launch into song.

"Not bad," was his grudging praise. "When did you last have singing lessons?"

"Sixteen. But I found myself remembering it. Ric, it's amazing, my voice just knew how to behave!" I gushed, hoping that he would support my ego, but instead he simply nodded.

"Do you know how to read music? Could you sight read a score?" He pushed the stool back and stood up, walking over to his bag and extracting a tattered score from its depths. "Would you be able to follow this?" I blanched as he held out the sheets to me and took it from his hand, placing it on top of the piano.

At first glance the notes all jumbled together, the music meaningless, the words no more then that. I found myself unable to connect the sound to what I saw for it did not seem to belong together. I shook my head in mute depreciation – there was no way I could do this and I looked at Ric to tell him so. Instead he simply started playing and as I listened to the music my eye honed in on a note and suddenly, almost like riding a bicycle I started to follow the score through, humming along quietly, picking up the tune.

"From the top then," he said simply as he came to an end and I nodded, launching into song at the opening bar. It was a simple Christmas tune that I had sung before, not too demanding in it's range and easy enough to read and pick up and by the third play I sung it through from beginning to end, resisting the urge to punch the air triumphantly at the end. I beamed at Ric, waiting for his fulsome praise of my skills – he must realise that I did have talent.

Instead he sighed, closed the lid of the piano and stood up. "Our hour's up," was his comment. No 'well done' or 'fantastic' or any positive comment, just an observation of the time. It deflated me and I sunk into myself as we walked out the building and into the main courtyard of the college, where he paused and stopped me with a hand on my arm. I ran a welcoming hand up it, glad of the physical contact and closeness that he had been missing before. "I've just got to go and do a bit of study in the library. Are you okay getting home by yourself?"

He had changed from music teacher back to housemate. I didn't know when the shift happened, but he had lost that edge of authority. I looked down at the hand on my arm, tempted to shrug it off, before I stopped. "I am perfectly capable of catching the train home!" My annoyance revealed itself in a prissy tone. "Will you be back for supper?"

"Um, yeah, I hope so, but if I am not in, just eat it – I mean don't wait for me – okay?" He lifted a hand to my cheek as if to sooth it, but instead in a flash he pulled my hat down lower with a laugh of immaturity. "See you later Izzy!" And then he was gone.

"I'm not pissed off, I'm not pissed off," was the mantra I chanted all the way home. I had to be careful not to put my expectation on the situation. Maybe I was amazed at my ability, but this man had been singing most of his life. What he heard coming out of my mouth was probably no more then mediocre at best. At least he was kind enough not to criticize.

I counselled myself strictly as I got changed, heated up some food and laid the table, waiting for him to return, desperate to seek an opinion, view, feedback – whatever he wanted to call it. And of course he wasn't back in an hour and I ended up eating pasta bake by myself in front of the television.

By ten, I called it a day and slunk off to bed, annoyed that I hadn't had a chance to talk to him. Just as I was drifting off I heard the scrape of a key in the lock and the noise of someone entering the dimly light rooms. There was a squeak of floorboards as he made his way over to my bedroom door and the soft taping before the whispered word. "Izzy?"

In that moment I feigned sleep, not wanting to start a potential argument based on my dissatisfaction with his behaviour. He wasn't put off and came and sat down on the bed. "Take your shoes off," I mumbled, giving the game away without looking at him. Only the thud as first one oversized boot and then its partner hit the floor, made me realised he had obeyed my sleepy command.

He stretched himself out next to me full length and gathered me into his arms, smelling of sweat and rain – outside smells invading the warm cosiness of my bedroom. His hand came up brushing my hair away from my forehead and he gently started to hum a wordless song to me, its evocative spell asking what he didn't.

Yet the notes did not melt me into a willing sexual puddle, nor did the bulge that I could feel digging into my back, instead the tears that had been threatening for the evening put in an appearance. "You bloody bastard," I whispered without venom at him, not even turning my head to view his presence, when it loomed over mine.

"Aye, I know." His arms tightened around me and he squeezed me hard, briefly resting his head on mine, before dropping a kiss on my cheek. Such audacity when I am sure he knew that he had upset me. He drew back a little and I felt a kiss drop itself on my neck.

"I'm not having sex with you!" I warned in irritation, amazed at his impudence. "You cannot act as if you are detached and then climb into bed with me only hours later!" There was a tremble in my voice, a shakiness I didn't want him to hear.

Another gentle kiss at the sensitive junction of my neck and shoulder was his reply, accompanied by a subtle shift of his groin, was his way of expressing that he didn't agree and his hand sought out the curve of my breast through the thin fabric of the t-shirt I wore to bed. The electric touch that leapt between us as his thumb grazed across my nipple had me violently sitting up in bed. "That is enough!" I fumbled for the bedside light and turned it on, flooding the room with dim warm light, so that I could see him.

He was lying next to me, his mask off; looking askance at my aggressive reaction, his eyes narrowed in surprise and anger as he slowly sat up. "Fine way you have of saying thank you!" His burr was pronounced with his temper, as it always seemed to be and I simply glared at him in anger and rising sexual frustration. Oh the temptation to let him have his way, to feel that sexual energy that use to heat the very air around us. However, I was exceedingly annoyed and hesitated between the two emotions. Being pissed off won the day.

"Oh pardon me, thank you for being a self-obsessed, up your own arse, spoilt; emotionally retarded git!" At my words he made a lunge for me, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me a shake.

"What the hell is that for Isabella? Why have you suddenly come across all virginal? You were practically begging for it a couple of hours ago!"

"Begging for..." it took a few seconds for his comment to sink in. "How dare you? I was not suppliant in anyway at all!"

"Ooh big words for the little PR girl!" The taunt in his voice was unmistakable, full of childish one-upmanship. My answer was to swing my hand back and aim at his face in what should have been a bruising slap. It didn't happen because instead I found myself with a knee in my back and a mouth full of suffocating duvet cover as he buried my face in bed sheets. "Don't try!" He threatened grimly. "I'm bigger, heavier and can hit back a lot harder Isabella. Remember I am not the gentleman you like to pretend I am."

"Get off me," I tried to scream, against the choking folds of fabric against my face. However the words came out garbled and so I wriggled and kicked, trying to fight my way out of his iron hold. It didn't work and finally, feeling as if I would pass out I went limp, stopped fighting against the human bonds.

"Izzy!" There was an unmistakable note of panic in his voice as he hauled me up and I didn't reply as I took a huge gulp of fresh welcoming air, filling my lungs. He looked me up and down, from my red tear stained face, to the wild look in my eyes. The anger seemed to drain out of him, but he simply stared at me, unable or unwilling to apologise. "You gave me that look – the one that means you want to..." He spoke finally, the muttered words the closest I was going to get to the word sorry.

"A look?" The shock stopped the tears that leaked out of my eyes and I backhanded the few remaining ones out the way. "If I wanted you in my bed Richard I would have asked, not given you _a look!_" It was almost the analysis of a woman, judging everything by looks and gestures rather then actual words. "I was actually looking for some congratulations, some positive feedback on how I sung this evening!"

"On how you sung?" Richard looked amazed at the fact I even expected a comment, let alone a 'well done', forgetting his regret at his actions. "You spoilt brat! I gave up my evening to help you win a stupid bet and because I didn't fall down on the ground and praise you; suddenly you think it is okay to behave as if you have been wronged. Get a life Izzy; I didn't praise you as you didn't deserve any!" He scrambled off the bed and stood glaring at me, hands on his hips, his chest heaving with his fury.

"Can you get out of my room please," I spoke in a tight voice, unwilling to let him see how much his comment had hit home. It was true, I was pissed off with him and therefore did not want to sleep with him; but that was my prerogative.

"Fine!" His voice hummed with anger and with another arrogant glare that raked me up and down he turned on his heel and strode out my room, banging the door to his in anger. And so ended our first real argument.

I didn't really sleep that night, just dozed fitfully, thinking about what Ric had said, what he had done! His assumptions and behaviour had startled and scared me. I had always assumed that I had the upper hand, simply by it being my flat, my invitation that he stay. Last night with one swift movement he had shown me that it was simply an illusion. Superior strength underlay that cutting sarcasm and, to have it turned on myself was scary.

Seven o'clock found me up and dressed. I hadn't been able to sleep and it seemed pointless to lie in bed. Hopefully my extra early departure would mean that I would avoid my housemate. I didn't want to see him at the moment as I was unsure how to react. I suppose his actions were expected, that anger and strength is what tinged his character with such a dark invitation. If I was to play with fire, then getting burned was without question.

I was just clearing my bowl into the dishwasher when I heard the scrape of the door open, heavy footsteps on the wooden floor made me hold my breath until I heard them go into the bathroom. In that small window of opportunity I raced back to my room, snatching up my handbag and things I needed for the day before gliding out to the front door.

"Izzy, wait!" His voice made me turn against my will, even with one hand on the latch. He looked rough, unshaved his glasses magnifying bloodshot eyes. Only a ragged old sweater and boxers on, his sleepy appearance was still appealing and I felt a mingled sense of disgust at myself and lust for him carve a lightning path through my body.

I did not deign to answer because that would have given him the upper hand again and to do so was at my peril. Instead I swept him up and down with a haughty glare before leaving the house. My temporary wave of euphoria carried me all the way to the tube station where my confused thoughts once again took control and plagued me all the way to work.

Even there I simply could not concentrate. Fury pounded through my veins at the way he treated me and hot on its heels came fear and with fear – guilt. I didn't know he was able to be so domineering and aggressive, except deep down inside me I was aware – of course. That unmistakable tinge of domineering man, a feel of protection and that arrogant air – none of that came without walking on the knife edge of anger and violence. I trusted that Ric fell on the side of good behaviour, especially after the untimely death of his mother by angered hands, but obviously it wasn't always the case.

Tiredness and lack of sleep added an edge to my unease and I ended up snapping at my colleagues and biting my tongue at the insensitivity of journalists the whole day long. I didn't know what I would say to my flatmate when I saw him, if he would apologise, blame the whole episode on too much passion, drink or something or if he would ignore it and there our argument would lie threatening the peace indefinitely. I didn't even know if our bet was still on, one lesson and it all fell apart – how typical!

The hours dragged into the afternoon, the grey skies melting into darkness so that the day never really seemed to get started. I was just thinking about going home – obviously our singing lesson was cancelled when my mobile rang – my nerves jangling in time with the tune.

"Hello."

"Isabelle. It's Lany," Damn, not the voice I wanted to hear, although surprised that she remembered who I was enough to call me. "Hope you don't mind me calling, I got your number off Ric." I remained mute, summing up the information she had just imparted. Ric was obviously speaking to his friends, probably telling them of my over reactive behaviour last night. Shit!

"Hi," I said without encouragement into the phone, not wanting to encourage conversation.

"I just thought I'd phone and see if Ric dragged you out for a singing lesson last night, or if he renegade on his promise?"

"No, he did and yeah, it went okay." I swallowed hard. "Listen um Alanya, I'm sorry but this isn't the greatest time..." I trailed off, embarrassed by my lie.

"No, I'm sorry I've just finished a shoot, I was just calling to see if you were going to watch the band play tonight, think I might head over myself and was looking for so company amongst the throng.""Play?" I asked the question faintly, for I deliberately never asked Ric when or where the band was performing, fearing the temptation.

"Yeah, it's quite a big gig, they are supporting someone at Shepherd's Bush tonight and it is such a big deal for Jim, thought I would go and offer some moral support. Do you want to come with me?" I thought about the offer for a minute, weighing up how I felt, which was a fairly pointless exercise as it left me even more confused.

"Okay, shall I meet you...."

"How about outside South Ken, about six-thirty?" The arrangements made I felt a frisson of excitement at the thought of going to see them again; by a full of groupie – having a relationship with a band member – a band member who was less then pleasant to me the night before.

My euphoria ended instantly as if someone had doused me in cold water. My excitement over going out had erased my doubts about the whole situation between Richard and myself, but they still existed and I didn't want to simply shovel over them, forget until the next time it occurred and possibly happened worse.

Therefore I fidgeted and fought as I dressed myself up that evening, my hands shaking so badly as I applied eyeliner that it took several failed attempts that needed wiping off before I managed to get a decent line that didn't wiggle over my eyelid. I deliberated and wandered between several different outfits, before choosing a very tight pair of jeans, a black sweater with the back cut out of it and a pair of knee high boots over the jeans. I felt like a rock chick and just hoped that I looked the part.

Of course I should have remembered that I was going with a model. Why did I have the masochistic way of hanging around with exceedingly beautiful, stick thin women that made me feel the size of a house with the features of Shrek? First Mags and now Alanya, who was currently waiting for me outside the tube. Her trousers so skin tight they looked as if they were painted on to legs that went on for miles and miles. Her hair fell in artfully mussed waves, her makeup up smudged to perfection and I am sure that such a picture of perfect rock chick loveliness was rarely seen outside a magazine.

"Isabelle," she greeted me, kissing my cheek with a genuine affection given that we had known each other less then forty-eight hours. "You look great!" I grimaced in return, my eyes flicking over her outfit. She caught their gaze. "I asked Toni to make me up and he rather rose to the challenge," she smiled sheepishly and I couldn't help but me charmed at her depreciating manner, enough to make pleasant light conversation with her all the way to Shepherd's Bush Empire.

"This is quite a gig isn't it?" I said, seeing the theatre looming in front of us. "Who are they supporting?"

"Some up and coming band that are also Scottish, liked the idea of the Scottish connection I think, possibly knew Eric." She shrugged with disinterest. "Still, you would think Jim had a personal audience with the Queen he's so het up about it all."

"And Ric?"

"Usual self, cool as a cucumber – almost seemed bored with the news. He's the opposite of Jim – the ying and the yang if you will. I am surprised that he didn't tell you."

"Yeah well," I nervously flicked my hair off my face, embarrassed at the thought of telling a close friend of Richard's what had transpired between us. To my absolute disgust and humiliation I felt tears welling up in my eyes, tiredness and confusion driving them out. With a blink and a quick swipe I backhanded them away, but Alanya was obviously very observant.

"Has he been a shit then?" I nodded warily, but offered the comfort she gave in the form of a one-armed hug. "He's good at that," she confided as we stood on the pavement in the dark, the cars rushing by on the road outside. Not really the place to have a heart to heart. "Isabelle, please don't think any the less of him because of it, he, well he doesn't react well sometimes but I promise he will be as sorry as hell when you next see him – face to face I mean." She gave a wry smile which I couldn't help but return.

"Thanks Alanya," I said with a sigh. "And please call me Izzy."

"As long as you call me Lany – which is a dreadful nickname thought up by your boyfriend.

"Boyfriend! He's not my boyfriend!" I shook my head making Alanya laugh.

"Well, whatever he is, we're going to be late if we don't go in right now!" And linking arms with me she pulled me through the doors.


	19. Chapter 19

**Okay, huge apologies for the absence of anything the past few months. However as it has now been snowing for the past few days I have been unable to get on with everything else and decided to start typing again. Hope you haven't all given up on this story - it is starting to happen - I am acutally begining to think about the end, rather sad isn't it? Anyway I hope you enjoy and please review! Pips**

Chapter 19

The smell of excitement was tangible, pulsating through the air whilst lasers scanned the stage and audience. The roar of voices was hushed at the moment, conversation personal, but there was no denying the atmosphere was electric.

The press of bodies were numbering over two thousand, unlike the couple of hundred that Cluinn was used to. This was a far cry from the shoddy venues they usually played – this was a proper arena and an enthusiastic audience. Okay, the spectators had not come to see them, but rather the more popular, chart climbing band that was titling.

Even still, the crowd was worked up; having paid to come here the anticipation sizzled. They wanted to be entertained, they expected it. And so when the sound system boomed into life, the crackling of feedback hissing around the room, there was collective silence before the mass of people broke into a roar of appreciation and Cluinn walked onto stage.

This was not their gig, so there were no elaborate stage sets or over the top pyrotechnics. Instead the house lights went down, spots came up on the figures on the stage and the music blared with a metallic whine. It drove the crowd wild.

Alanya and I were afforded the best seats on the strength of our back stage passes and we were pushed to the front of the crowd, a seething mass behind us, unaware and uncaring that there was sitting room available for them, preferring to stand and drink in the spectacle. The roar that accompanied the first blast of music nearly had me covering my ears.

Invasive is the first word that came to my mind when I heard the opening notes. You could not ignore music like this, even if you wanted to, however if your ear wasn't tuned in, then it could sound discordant. But if it was your style of music or not, there was no denying the talent of the lead singer. He was currently also playing guitar, his fingers flashing over the struts as he bellowed into the microphone, his voice reverberating through the hall, accompanied by the rhythmic beat of the drums and backed by Jim on lead guitar and another band member on bass.

His voice swooped above the beat of the music transforming an ordinary tune into something quite extraordinary, leaving the crowd breathless in his wake. His talent did not need to be backed by any fancy stage sets because the spectacle of his singing was enough to keep everyone amazed. When the song ended with a guitar riff the crowd threw up there hands, cheering as if Cluinn were the band they had come to see.

I trained my gaze on the lead singer, safe in the knowledge that he could not see me over the footlights. He was dripping with sweat, the beads sliding down his face and mask – the black one that dissected his face. There was a grin that could have almost been called manic as he surveyed the audience before lifting the microphone to his lips, the guitar swinging at his back as he broke into another song.

I recognized this one from the couple of concerts I had attended and found myself singing along with the melody. I was not the only one for soon the whole auditorium was chanting along to the words. At one stage Ric broke off, the band falling into silence, the music only being carried along by the words from the crowd, singing them back to the microphone that he held out. It was astounding to both see and hear for it cemented them as a true group in the public eye. I had a strange feeling that this was the start of something.

So taken with the spectacle around me, I didn't pay attention to what happened on stage. The song had ended and Ric had put the microphone back in the stand, talking to the audience slightly, flirting with them, his soft Scottish accent amplified around the hall. He was speaking, my name mentioned and I drew my concentration back to what he said as Alanya dug me in the ribs with a sharp jab of her elbow.

"So this is for a girl called Isabelle," he was saying to the masses. "Who understands why. Hope you enjoy!" He walked over to the side of the stage, swapping the electric guitar for an acoustic one and gracefully slid back into the spotlight which now highlighted the mike.

The gentle notes that floated out unaccompanied from the strings seemed delicate after the powerful cords of the previous two songs. The introduction to the words left no doubt to the listener that this was a cover of an older version.

_Sorry, is all that I can't say_

_Years gone by and still_

_Words don't come easily_

_Like sorry, like sorry_

_Forgive me_

_Is all that I can say_

_Years gone by and still_

_Words don't come easily_

_Like forgive me, forgive me._

_But you can say baby._

_Bay can I hold you tonight?_

_Baby if I told you the right words_

_At the right time._

_You'd be mine_

_I love you_

_Is all that I can say_

_Years gone by and still_

_Words don't come easily_

_Like I love you, I love you_

I didn't hear the rest of the words, drowned out as the audience once again supported, joining in with the chorus. I was also too busy crying, the tears traced tracks down my cheeks, leaving a trail of mascara in their wake. Ric had just stood up on stage and admitted two statements that I never believed would fall from his lips. Maybe Alanya was right.

Suddenly the auditorium was too crowded, the crowds too close and stifling and I needed fresh air. With a sense of desperation that closely escalated to panic I fought my way out of the densely packed people, and ran through to the foyer, standing there with my back against the wall, breathing deeply and ignoring the curious stares of the ushers who glanced my way. A few minutes later and I felt a hand on my shoulder. Looking up from my study of the floor I saw that Alanya had followed me out. "Are you okay?"I nodded and then let out a weak grin, because it was clearly obvious that I wasn't, but it was reassuring to pretend at the very least."They only have two songs left I think, then we can go backstage and see them – that should make it easier."

"No," the words fell from my lips. "No, I don't think I could." Because of his very public declaration there were things that needed to be said and I did not want them said in front of a curious crowd of onlookers. "Let's stand at the back and watch the last song, but then I had better get home. Unfortunately I have to return to real life tomorrow and go to work and I fear it will be a late one."

Alanya accepted my pathetic excuse with a sexy roll of her shoulders that on anyone else could be interpreted as a shrug, but she did not argue and so we stood by the darkened doorway and watched as the crowd was once again stoked to a fever pitch with the last Cluinn song.

Ric held the dying notes of the tune, seemingly forever, the cheering increased the longer he carried the last tremor of sound. And finally the stage was plunged into darkness, his voice came out of the gloom thanking the crowd and it was all over – time for the main act to grace the stage with all their glory – time for me to be gone.

It was still relatively early to leave and I was able to get home with ease. There I sank into a warm bubble bath and mused over what had just happened. Richard has admitted he loved me and that he was sorry. Or had he? Maybe he had just quoted the lyrics of the song and I was misinterpreting what was being said – although he had changed the words slightly, singing from his point of view and not the other way around as the song had originally been written.

I tossed the scenario back and forth in my mind, convincing myself that one answer was right, before changing my mind again. Nope, just a song – that he possibly dedicated to me possibly to try and appease my anger from the night before. Actually, maybe he did love me and he was pissed off because I was arrogant last night. Maybe I did actually love him or maybe I didn't? It didn't make any difference what I thought because he was not there to discuss it with. And at that moment I realized that I missed him – a lot. I had become use to his presence in the house, to the space he filled and to having his opinion – even when I did not wish for it.

The connection that has sizzled between us that very first night that I had seen him was still there, although it had a roundabout way of showing itself. The trouble was that was a possessiveness in his actions that was disturbing, an aggressiveness that reared it's ugly head last night for reasons that I could not understand. It was obvious he fought demons and from what I knew about him he did not rely on either alcohol or drugs to cushion him from their stinging blows. It made me admire him even more, after last night it also made me fear him – it seemed his outlet would be anger instead!

I sunk deeper into the bubbles, closing my eyes in an attempt to transport me into a state of calm reflection, let my subconscious lead me, rather then try and rely on shaky reasoning. I nearly succeeded, my eyelids growing heavy so that I dozed in the cooling water; drifting off with emotional and physical tiredness. The bang of a door wrenched me back to my senses and I sat up, noticing the tepidness of the bathwater and the lack of bubbles. Nerves on edge I climbed out of the bath, toweling myself off, wondering if that noise signified Ric returning home – finally. "Hello," I called out as I wandered into the living room of the house. Silence was the only reply and I let out a weak grin at my foolishness. There was no way he would be back this early, if he would be back at all. This was his night, one in which his band could finally succeed, no point racing home to a lovesick housemate.

I moved through to the bedroom, every intention of pajamas, a cup of tea and bed in my head and it was moment later that I was clad in their comforting flannel print, my feet stuck into fluffy slippers and my hair combed back off my head. "Glamorous no, comfortable yes" I muttered to myself, attempting the power of positive thinking.

"Weel, they may be glamorous in some circles," the Scots voice carried softly through my room. "Pajama parties maybe?" he continued as I whirled around with a soft gasp, so convinced that I was not going to see him tonight, his appearance was a shock.

"Why are you back so early? I thought it would be hours until you finished and there would be so much to see and people to meet." He walked up to me and placed a rough finger against my lips, hushing my questions.

"I left Jim, that's more his field – he'll enjoy it. I just wanted to come back, thought we should talk."

"Talk," I echoed weakly, nodding in agreement, although one look at him made it the last thing from my mind. The energy practically sparked off him, even though he was outwardly calm and the smell of sweat pervaded his body. He was dressed in black, his eyes ringed in kohl, his hair styled in trendy spikes. The man from the stage, who sung about his feelings, was now standing in my bedroom – and talking was not what I wanted to do at this moment.

I flung myself towards him, knocking him back slightly with my enthusiasm and he rocked on his heels, before winding his arms around me and holding me tight against him so that I could feel the sweat of his chest soak into the front of my pajamas. Our lips met and there was a frantic clash of tongues and teeth as we tried to communicate our passion and lust.

It took several heated minutes before I drew back, my chest rising and falling from the sheer effort it had taken to carry out our marathon kissing match. "You did mean it didn't you?" I fixed him with a beady eye, my hormones settling a bit and vaguely rational thought returning to my brain, even if I was unable to articulate it.

A small smirk escaped his lips and I could almost see the impulse to tease that flitted through his head and light up his eyes with a flash of immature joy. Thankfully he respected my somewhat vulnerable state, damped it down and with a cocky raised eyebrow slipped me a grin. "Of course!" I didn't like the grin, it felt insincere and I flashed him a warning, angry that he did not want to take this discussion seriously.

"Is sorry all you can say then?" I quoted. "You usually aren't at a loss for words." Damn it! The words came out wrong and there was anger in my tone, pleading in the meaning of what I said. I glared at him, het up and unsure of myself, the mood settling over me in an instant and the euphoria of finding him back, pushed to one side as the darker truth still lurked about his behavior.

"You have a good way of welcoming me home Izzy," he said with a sigh, his hands on his hips, weight over one leg. He shook his head slightly. "You're right I guess, we do need to talk, but can I just take a shower first – please and then well, I'm all yours!" He held his arms out at his side, as if to demonstrate his passive stance. I gave a tight little nod and turned, climbing into bed.

The man that came and sat on the end of my bed a while later, was the man I knew. No rock god, no lawyer. He handed me a cup of tea and then climbed onto the bed, leaning back against the footboard, his long legs clad in pajamas like mine. No makeup, no mask – just him.

We sat their silently for a few moments, both drinking our tea and I studied him over the rim of my cup, looking at the asymmetry of his face, that dreadful scar pulling his cheek out of line so that one side did not reflect the other. On first sight it was jarring. We are so use to seeing a degree of reflection on a person's face from one side to the other, that when it is disturbed our brains react as if it is wrong and therefore we class it as ugly. Stroke victims, facial deformities, even people simply unlucky enough to not be blessed with even features all fall into this category.

But as time passed I had grown used to the angles and planes of my flatmate's face and could look at it's shape, size, position in a more calculated light. See past the scar, look around the canyon in his face and the lines and features would render him as good looking as any male model.

"Bit of a let down," I said, my glance taking in the domesticity of our set up. That evening, the state, the crowds – it all seemed so far away, a different life time. A brief smile crossed his lips.

"I can compartmentalize," he said, shrugging slightly and taking a sip of his tea. "Jim finds it difficult to come down after a show and is up for hours afterwards – I guess it will be days now. Plenty of performers are like that and that is where the problems start. I thankfully can switch off, that was then – this is now.

"And what is now all about? What do you want to make of it?"

He furrowed his brow at my cryptic demand, pulling a thoughtful face. "What do you want me to say?"

I stared at him, outrage creating a pit of warmth in my stomach that started to rise through my body, narrowed my eyes at him; ready to bite – and then hesitated. He wasn't teasing me. His expression was one of genuine curiosity and question. I mulled words over in my mind, hoping that my face was unreadable as I didn't want him to get a handle on my confusion. Why did he do what he did on stage? Did he mean it? Why did he do what he did to me last night? Did he mean it? I glanced down and sighed, bracing my shoulders and waiting – waiting for something, divine intervention seemed like the most likely as the silence stretched on.

"What happened last night?" I finally ventured asking the question to my duvet cover rather then the man sitting at the end of the bed.

"We argued." His voice was soft, gentle, but held no hint of an apology.

"If that's what you want to call it." I pushed, but still did not seek eye contact.

"You tried to slap me," grievance in his tone.

"And you …" I trailed off and took a gulp of air, thinking about the way he dealt with me.

"Self-defense?" There was a note of humour in his voice that made me look up.

"Oh is that what lawyers are calling it nowadays is it? When a woman over a foot shorter then you misses giving you a slap and you practically break her back in _self-defense_.!" There was no missing my sarcasm and I finally lifted my head and pierced him with a glare. "I actually thought that the only way I was going to get out of it was to wake up in hospital! Do you have any idea…" I trailed off as the tears came gushing out of my eyes, hot and hard and angry.

"Oh God, Izzy!" He moved over the bed in a swift movement, gathering me up in his arms and hugging me to his chest, before his lips sort my face, covering it with delicate little kisses. "No; no, don't say that, please don't say that. I never meant to, never should have…." Finally want I wanted, an apology, of sorts. Now it was just the explanation as to why he behaved as he had.

"So why then?"

"Why?" His forehead was pulled into a frown, marred by the confusion and anxiety on his face and if I hadn't been the victim then I would have found his boyish bewilderment endearing. Except it didn't pass muster with me. "Like I said Izzy, I thought you wanted to – possibly not last night, but most of the time you act like a cat in heat, all slinky and come hither and I was so turned on and frustrated last night – after hearing you sing that I just had to. I tried to stay away, really I tried. Spent an hour in the library and an hour in the pub, but you are my siren call!"

I wriggled out of his suffocating embrace and looked at him again for once more he had managed to shock and enthrall me at the same time. "Cat in heat?" I asked trying to go for a nonchalant tone, but probably failing. I personally thought I did a good job of hiding my raging hormones from him.

"Aye, just like a cat, never coming on – just slinking around with a twitch in your tail and a gleam in your eye." I tried not to let a smile onto my lips for it was quite an accurate analogy. I suppose I was not the actress I thought. "And then I heard you sing," he added with a deep sigh. At this my ears pricked up – was I finally going to get the feedback that I craved, that was at the root of all of this?

He fixed with an intense stare, a faint smile on his lips. "I forget Izzy and you must forgive me, for most of my training has been with the stick, not the carrot. And sometimes I forget that different people respond differently, you are a carrot sort of girl Izzy and there I was with holding from you, hoping to push you further."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"The carrot and the stick! What sort of teaching do you respond to, constant praise and reward or a cold shoulder and self-motivation. I've always had the later and it gears me up- nothing like a bit of stick across the buttocks, but you - you crumble under that don't you?"

"Oh, yes, I guess. Don't most people?" The conversation had taken a u-turn; this was not what I wanted to hear. A lecture on teaching methods was not satisfying. I paused and mentally counted to ten, not wanting to seem too eager. "So are you going to give me some carrot to chew on then?" I glanced up at him, "or just keep it dangling in front of me."

The smile on his lips widened and he flashed his teeth at me. "What would you like me to say to you? What would please you most to hear? Should I lie and say that the angels weep when they listen to you sing, when in reality you sound like a screechy record?"

"Oh god, do I really?" I paled at the thought, suddenly embarrassed that the talent I thought I possessed was a figment of my imagination. Until I saw his shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

"No, possibly no weeping cherubim around, but you aren't about to start the dogs howling either, so I wouldn't worry. You have a nice voice Izzy – I don't know what more you want to know. Your tone is even, pitch perfect and if you work and practice then you can become a very good – great even - singer. Does it make you happy to know that?"

"Yes, it does." Silence filled the air for a moment. "When you say good, how good? I mean like winning X-Factor good?" He threw his head back and laughed out loud.

"You would knock the judges and the audience off their feet Izzy. However, a little practice and you will win our bet hands down." He ran his hands down my arms and I suddenly shivered, realising that despite the intimacy of our conversation he had simply blamed his behaviour on me, not given the true reason.

"Ric," I ventured hesitantly.

"Mmm," he had rested his head against my chin and was almost dreamily humming to himself, the tone weaving into the song he had sung tonight.

"What really got under your skin last night? You were really pissed off and I doubt that was due to be cat behaviour, or lack off! " He stopped humming, the gentle vibration ceasing and I felt his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath.

"I got my paper back – you know the dissertation I was working on."

"Oh," I guessed the outcome and made my voice suitable soothing. "I am sure it wasn't that bad. What did you get?"

"A first, which is a pain." I tried to swallow my gasp, unsure at his strange anomally.

"Not many people would call a first a pain, that is usually a good thing. Isn't it?"

He released me from his hold and drew back slightly so that he could look me in the face. "Six months ago I would have said it was a great thing, three months ago it would have been a good thing. But suddenly I am not sure – you know _Cluinn_ is suddenly taking off and music is once again having meaning in my life once more. And I spent the whole day weighing up my options, which means that I have to relive every bloody reason why I started on this venture. Yeah, it pisses me off." He gave a small sad smile and I could read between the lines. He had been thinking of his Mother, of his life before. And there I was the self-scented individual worrying if my voice was in tune or not. Not really surprised he lost his temper when I refused to give him comfort.

"I was a real bitch," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

"No, no you're not. I don't expect you to be a mind reader." He laced his fingers with mine and dropped a kiss on the interwoven knuckles. "You make it worth getting out of bed in the mornings. I shouldn't have taken my anger and frustration out on you, but then I am a big man and couldn't admit that I wanted some comfort because I was feeling unloved and alone."

At his comment I let out a small sob, more from the guilt then any true sadness on his part. I had failed him, failed myself. Suddenly I heard the words from the song he had sung earlier circling around in my head. "And you can say baby," I crooned softly at him. "Baby can I hold you tonight? Baby if I told you the right words at the right time." I trailed off as my voice crumbled into nothing holding his gaze with mine before he leant forward and kissed me, leaving me breathless with nothing more to say.

Lyrics are adapted from Baby Can I Hold You by Tracy Chapman.


	20. Chapter 20

**This chapter came out quite easily, so quick update this time (to make up for the long year that I have spent writing this). Just one quick note, given the peculiarities of the English language, the man Izzy meets in this chapter - his name is pronounce Rafe Chaynee - no prizes for guessing who he is based on! Please read and please please review - I only got two last chapter and it does get me down a bit - I might go back to a few lines every month if you don't leave lots of feedback. Anyway enjoy! Pips**

Chapter Twenty

It was still dark when I woke up. Unsurprising really given that it was winter, but for once I didn't need the alarm clock to drag me to consciousness. Instead sleep decided to let me go and at six thirty I was wide awake, in contrast to my bed companion who had rolled himself in the duvet and was snoring away softly.

Not tempted by the thought of lying in bed and listening to his heavy breathing; I eased myself out from the warm nest we had made in the sheets and headed to the kitchen for my ritual cup of tea. As the warmth and caffeine carved a path through my body and reality started to return I felt my mood sour.

Despite all that happened last night, Richard's admissions, the singing and the fact that we inevitably slept together – I couldn't shake a feeling of unease. There was something in his manner, in the way he apportioned blame that made me feel somehow less of a person, that I was possibly more at fault for his actions then I believed. He had apologised, assumed that I had accepted his explanation and then simply wanted to pick up where he had left off.

The sex last night had been gentle and caring, he didn't demand or expect and I could tell that it was his way of showing his apology – but I was not sure if that was what I wanted. There was so much he left unsaid and unexplained. I had no idea about his true feelings and desires, how he really felt about me. That was what unsettled me, most of his actions seemed to be premeditated in some way and I truly wondered if he did love me as he claimed in his song or if I was simply a convenience.

I wandered into the living room, trying to assimilate my feelings, whilst turning on lights to cast away the gloom of the day that hadn't quite started. As I stood up my gaze fell on the door to his bedroom, standing wide open across the hallway. Unusual in itself for he normally left it firmly closed or at least pulled to. I respected his obvious desire for privacy and did not enter, occasionally leaving the vacuum outside his door in a silent but pointed remark.

Now, with my frame of mind in a less then noble way, my emotions swinging wildly, I suddenly wondered if the answer lay in his space, in the fact that I felt there was a huge question mark hanging over our relationship. Never had more guilt flowed through me then when I chose to walk across the threshold.

Stopping immediately I held my hand up to my fiercely beating heart, waiting to have him jump out. Except he didn't and the rhythmic meter of his snore carried throughout the rooms of the flat. My blood pressure dropping slightly, I looked around the space that, until a few months ago had been nothing more then a spare room – a bed and wardrobes filled with the detritus of life.

Now it was a bedroom, a refugee and place where Richard, slept, hoped, dreamed and worked. There were two bookcases groaning with books and files, a desk in front of the windows with more paper and his computer on it, musical instruments in their cases leaning drunkenly against a wall; but at first glance nothing different from what one would expect.

His clothes from last night were kicked into a heap in the corner, leather boots next to them all silver buckles and heavy soles – very much part of a stage outfit for I don't think I had ever seen him wear anything like it outside of performing. I poked one tentatively with my foot, slightly amazed by the sheer weight, size and flamboyancy of them. Not what I associated with Richard, more the alter ego he displayed on stage.

I chewed my lips nervously, glancing around trying to see anything that would reveal more of his emotions to be, his true unfettered emotions and not what he chose to disclose. On the desk files of work and books were stacked that were all to do with his course. "Attachment Theory: Child Maltreatment and Family Support" the title of the top stack of books shouted at me. It had a pencil acting as a bookmark and the page of random jottings that was in front of it seemed to be note taking. So far, so normal.

And then as I looked around the room my gaze fell on the photo at the side of the bed. Small and in a cheap wooden frame it hadn't attracted my attention at first, but now as I approached I could see three figures. A younger Richard and two other women smiled back at me as I picked the picture up and studied it. The first woman was still youthful, her auburn hair flowing to her shoulders and bright blue eyes holding a mischievous glint. Her skin seemed youthfully clear, her lips perfectly pouty and the overall effect was of a very pretty female. The older woman was less attractive; seemingly worn down by the drudgery of life that had lined her face, chapped her hands and greyed her hair. Yet even she beamed back at the camera; pride written all over her face. Richard was holding a medal, his smile splitting his face in two, sparkling blue eyes like that of the titian haired female to his right.

I could only hazard a guess at who it was, but felt I was accurate in saying that this was his mother and grandmother, proud of an achievement of Richard's – something he had won a medal for. I glanced once again at the younger woman, suddenly sad in the knowledge that this beautiful girl was no longer alive – that all the energy and vivacity that radiated out of the picture had been snuffed out.

The photograph was so happy and so sad at the same time and I put it back down, a feeling of moroseness washing over me. Death had far reaching effects, on those who loved the taken and beyond and I was sure that I was feeling its cold kiss in Richard's behaviour. The sigh that came from my lips was deep and heartfelt as I glanced around the room once again.

Of course there was nothing there – he was hardly going to have love poetry lying around and photographs scattered across his floor – I am not sure what I had expected. Short of rifling through his files, abhorrent thought, there was nothing else I could do or look at.

An hour later, washed; dressed and ready to go, I hesitated in my bedroom, looking down at the sleeping form in my bed. He had burrowed down, so that only the very tip of his head peeped above the duvet cover, barely visible with the pillows surrounding it. "Bye Ric," I called softly, not wanting to leave without any form of greeting, but unsure if I really wanted to wake him up.

"Eh, uggh," the figure in my bed groaned and lifted his head, squinting in the gloom in my direction. "Izzy, oh – what's the time? Are you off to work?"

"It's only half seven, I'm off early. See you later."

"Oh, bye," he sunk back down into the covers and there I couldn't be sure of his mumbled words, but they sounded like – I love you.

In my angst yesterday I had forgotten that today was a venue tour for the big Christmas party that was an annual fixture in the Farrow & Faith calendar. My bosses being as ubiquitous and snobby as they were used it as an occasion to mark their largess and involvement with the 'right sort of people' and I as the golden girl was given the dubious pleasure of working hand in hand with Fiona. Therefore later that morning I was walking around the ballroom at the Park Lane Hotel, clipboard in hand, discussing the logistics of the evening with the events manager of the hotel and my finickiety boss and Rachel.

Our job was made all the more difficult by Fiona's outrageous view of the event. Desperately keen to climb the slippery ladder of popularity, she was trying to attract a younger and more promotionally aware crowd, then the usual business partners and clients that the traditional dinner had always catered for. As a result she was keen to remove anything in the evening which she considered to be unhip, uncool or not in line with her taste. It was difficult to manage her expectations.

"A young crowd, we want a young crowd," she seemed to keep on crowing. "No string quartets and warm white wine. Cocktails! That's it; let's have a bar where they will mix you whatever you want to drink. Izzy, I want the best mixologist in London – I am sure you can find him for me. And Rachel, music – what can we do for the music?"

Rachel and I set off after her as she charged across the art deco ballroom, seemingly oblivious to the old fashioned beauty around her. I had already attempted to persuade her to change the location, but every single suggestion I put forward had not been suitable enough for her 'vision'. I reviewed my notes on the idea, which seemed simple enough. A party aimed at the pretty young hot set, the future of Public Relations, the undergraduates who were due to inherit Daddy's company, the creative young things who were on a trajectory to stardom, anyone youthful with a title. Fiona was even endeavouring to invite the younger royals, although so far her attempts had been politely rebuffed.

She was currently talking very fast to the events coordinator of the hotel, Rachel and I standing behind her back, trying to hold encouraging smiles on our faces, when we both felt like pulling the plug. "She doesn't want Bossa Nova music," Rachel muttered to me, as our boss went off on a trajectory about the catering. "No classical, no Latin American, no X Factor winners or losers. Not quite sure what she wants."

"A frontal lobotomy? More cocaine" I suggested with a innocent tone in my voice, causing my colleague to splutter. "Has she given you any ideas about who she would like – preferably alive and playing rather then dead or split, so not the Beatles or Elvis Presley!"

"Thankfully not the Beatles. She did say the Prodigy." I sniggered. "Or apparently Take That."

"So firmly rooted in reality as always then," I stage whispered. "Anyone else?"

"Peter apparently is in to his heavy rock, which frankly I find quite disturbing; so he has requested Linkin Park or Metallica either of which I can quite see doing a set here and the residents being happy about." Rachel gestured at the silk hung walls around us with a sarcastic wave of her hand, but I had frozen with thought.

"Heavy metal, heavy rock. Rach, you know my flatmate – Richard?"

"The guy with the - I mean the guy who picked you up the other night and came to the pub that time?"

"Yeah, the guy with the mask, you can say it. Him. Well, he plays in a band, actually he fronts a band that might be suitable."

"Yeah Izzy, but our dearest bosses who are not batting for the realistic team want someone famous who normally plays to packed stadiums. I don't think they would be happy with a home grown group who practices in a garage! You know what they are like."

"Well _Cluinn_ aren't that bad! I mean they were supporting '_Batting for Mary'_at Brixton Academy last night, so they are more then just nobody. They have a site on _MySpace_ , so listen to some of their music when they get back to the office, it might just be easier to sell it to Fiona then trying to get the Prodigy!"

She didn't answer but stepped forward with a helpful look on her face, obviously with the answer to a question I didn't hear, so wrapped up in thoughts about the party and my housemate. Wishing I could speak to him right now, I brushed my hand against the phone in my pocket, willing it to ring so that I would have an excuse to distance myself from the meeting.

It would seem that my boss, with her usual degree of tact had managed to upset the events lady for marching across the vast expanse of carpet was a man with a determined set to his face. Even from this distance I could appreciate his easy good looks, blonde hair cut in a neat and easy style, formally made suited and booted – this man was no office junior. I moved to rejoin the group, trying to pick up on what was going on.

"Ms Farrow, you had some more questions?" I eavesdropped. Damn, must have missed the introductions. However I had to hand it to him that even when Fiona launched into her litany he stood and listened patiently, nodding his head at times but never showing that he was anything other then fully engaged in her conversation. It was only after fifteen minutes of almost one sided complaints that he looked up and shot me a smile, which I returned; only to seem him frown when I looked at him fully.

"I think we understand each other, don't we, Mr Cheyne?" Fiona ended with a slight note of triumph. "After all we don't want bad publicity to get out now do we?" Ah, it seemed as if she had used her usual bullying tactics to achieve what she wanted – as always. I had to hand it to my boss, spoilt, demanding and horrendously unfair; but she did have a way of getting things done and noticed. I suppose that is why people put up with her. "Anyway, I am now late so I will see you on the day – two weeks. I do hope you are working that day?"

"I am here office hours as always and Jane here will be the duty manager on that evening, which is why she has been looking after you. Any problems please call either of us." Polite but final; I guess he was used to dealing with clients like Fiona Farrow. Handshakes exchanged, Rachel and I jumped to attention like obedient lapdogs and made to go. However a last glance at the two events coordinators standing there had me hesitating.

"Rach, go on ahead, I just want to apologise," I nodded in their direction and thankfully she understood my motives. It made sense to smooth things over between the staff that had to work together; Fiona had a way of riling people. I walked over, a friendly smile on my face. "I'm sorry," was my opening gambit. "She has a way of getting whatever she wants."

"No offence taken," Mr Cheyne replied, putting his hands on his hips and letting out a sigh. The action caused his jacket to part and I couldn't help but glance at the muscular stomach highlighted through his sober shirt. "I'm sorry I didn't catch you name earlier."

"Isabella Saunders," I shook his hand. "Supposedly an account director, but also Fiona's performing monkey," I smiled wryly. "She can be very difficult to work with at times, made me cry on more then one occasion." I aimed the remark at Jane, who seemed rather flustered. "But if you do have any comments can you direct them to me," I handed over my business card and took his in exchange. With a glance I took in his name – Ralph Cheyne – Events Manager. Ralph Cheyne, the name seemed remarkably familiar to me and I look up at him again.

"If you are going to say do I know you, the very same question is on my mind," he replied with a warm smile. "I feel we have met before, although for the life of me I cannot remember when. I suppose it is one of the downsides of this job – many faces pass through. Anyway Isabella, it was nice to meet you and we will be in touch." He shook my hand again and with a sweep of his hand started to walk towards the exit, no doubt keen to get rid of such a demanding client.

They were waiting in a taxi for me and I climbed in, sitting on the jump seat and tried to avoid the icy gaze of Fiona's stare as she spoke into her phone, fixing instead on the rectangle of card in my hand. I wracked my brain trying to think of where I had met this man, why the name struck a cord and mentally went through my varied job list to see if at one stage our paths had crossed. But no incident jumped out at me and I reasoned that for both of us to feel a connection something quite intense must have happened, or we had been related in another life; not that I believed in all that.

"He was quite cute wasn't he?" Rachel muttered sotto voice, not wishing to disturb Fiona's telephone call. "Couldn't take his eyes off you!" I gave a snort of laughter, which earned me a glare, but chose not to take my colleague into my confidence. This was a puzzle I needed to figure out on my own.

We came back to the office in silence, the team of people able to interpret Fiona's mood clearly enough to know when to ask questions and when to try and be invisible as possible. Not standing out from the crowd was a good battle plan at this stage and so everyone sat there, eyes glued to their computer screens and not uttering a word of welcome or a single question. It was only as the boss swept through and into her glass cubicle of an office that once again the silence was broken with a soft hum of conversation.

I got to hand with the more activities that had arisen in our absence, working through the e-mails that continually poured into my inbox, not taking much notice of what was happening around me. "Izzy!" I finally heard my name practically shouted in my ear and jumped to attention.

"Huh?" It was Rachel, crouched down next to my desk, her eyes bright with excitement that suggested that something was on a positive track. "What?"

"That band you suggested? Cluinn?" I nodded warily, not quite sure what she was going to say and suddenly fiercely protective of them, despite not really having anything to do with their success. "I think you're right – they are fantastic, just the sort of thing that would appeal to Fiona & Peter. I think we should pitch it to her right now, come on you can help."

At that precise moment my phone beeped with an incoming message and I held up a hand, checking the words before replying. It was Ric, asking me to meet him for a coffee – unexpected in itself, but a fully formed plan suddenly presented itself to me. "I actually have a better idea Rach," I looked up at her. "Let me go and meet my flatmate for a coffee and I will suggest the idea to him, you can go and suggest it to f and f and if they bite, then text me and I will bring Ric over directly to meet them. We could have this signed and sealed by the end of the day.

"Shouldn't we just contact their agent, wouldn't that be easier?"

"Don't think they have one and to be honest Ric has a certain way with people, I think he could be very persuasive. What do you think? Let's give it a try." My colleague looked less then pleased with the thought, although that was possibly due to having to go into the lion's den alone with a half formed idea, but she nodded in agreement and I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face.

Not waiting for anything that had the potential to stop me, I stood up, gathering my things. "Oh and Izzy?" Rachel's voice halted me in my tracks and I waited with a raised eyebrow. "I did a bit of research on your Mr Cheyne." I scowled at her teasing – he wasn't my Mr Cheyne, he wasn't my anything. "Turns out his Daddy is the Cheyne of Cheyne, Lloyd and Walker – you know the merchant bank that had all that bad press last year?"

I did know who Cheyne, Lloyd and Walker were, only too well. Not only, as Rachel correctly said, for their star role in the media only eight months ago due to stupendous payouts for the staff, whilst at the same time surfing the crashing market that caused chaos for so many other monetary institutions, they were also my father's former employers. He had been their financial director, part of the inner team and a close friend of the owners. It was after millions were wiped off his portfolio after the dreadful day of September eleventh that his depression spiralled ever downwards. It was March the twenty-third, two thousand and two that I found out the dreadful news – the date would be etched on my brain for evermore.

A shudder went down my spine, leaving an icy sensation running down through my body, unsettling me. Suddenly I desperately wanted to see Richard, for he was the one person I could talk to about this – he was the one person who knew the truth. The smile I flashed Rachel was limp and false, but I had no desire to make conversation and rushed out of the office as if my heels were on fire.

Once outside I breathed in the cold damp air, for once glad of the winter temperatures for the reality they served. I didn't like being reminded of my father, for the way he died was so selfish, stealing every last thing from me. I originally refused to read the inquest report, not wanting to know the details of his death, but Anne insisted for without it I would always be imagining and wanting. The gruesome fact that he had suffocated himself nearly made me retch as I recalled it.

Desperate for company to get me away from my isolating thoughts I hurried down to Covent Garden and into our local Starbucks, glancing around for any sign of Ric. I spotted him at the back of the shop where he had managed to bag a coveted pair of soft chairs; no easy task in this tourist frequented spot and was busy sipping from a mug and flipping through a text book.

Unaware that I had arrived, he was lost in thought, reading the text at speed and as I waited for my order I took a good long look at him. He seemed to have squashed his tall frame into the cushioned chair, one foot clad in its usual tatty trainer drawn up against his body, resting the shoe, against the fabric, his arm wrapped around his leg and his head resting against his knee. His hair was scrapped back from his face in a stubby ponytail, a sheen of grease suggesting he hadn't washed it that morning. In fact he looked as if he had got dressed in rather a hurry – his jeans were ripped, his socks didn't match and the sweater had small holes in it. I grimaced for I had hoped that he would be a little more presentable, given the fact that I was hoping to sell his talent to my boss.

My phone beeped with a text message as I picked up my cup and a quick glance assured me that Fiona had taken the bait, all I now needed to do was catch Richard on the same hook.

"Hey!" I plunked myself in the chair opposite, dumping his rucksack on the floor and causing him to look up in surprise, a grin breaking out on his face, half hidden by the flesh covered domino he wore.

"Hey Iz," he said warmly and then his actions shocked me totally for he raised himself up, looking rather like a spider uncurling itself, leant over and kissed me on the cheek, his mask scrapping against my skin, before collapsing back into his chair. I sat there for a moment; too stunned to return the greeting, my face frozen into surprise. My thoughts of earlier had been buried under the stress of the meeting, but suddenly I remembered my hesitancy that morning, questioning if the words he had mumbled had been of love.

Hopefully he didn't look at my face before I forced myself to bend it into a smile and with a wry twist of my mouth nodded at his attire. "Running late this morning?" He smirked slightly, pulling the worn wool further down his arms.

"Forgot I had a nine o'clock tutorial and overslept; this double life can be exhausting." He grinned, "Or maybe it was just the bedroom gymnastics of last night, aye?" I had to laugh at his cheeky tone before taking a sip of my frothy drink, licking the foam from where it stuck to my top lip and eliciting another snort of laughter from my companion, who finished his cup and cast it onto the small table. "You were gone early?" The remark was delivered casually, but intentness in his gaze made me wary.

"I'm not use to having someone else in my bed and woke early," my tone of voice was light and flippant, not betraying my feelings. "And I had so much work to do that I decided to head in, score a few brownie points and all that. Just come back from a meeting about the Christmas do."

"Sounds interesting, more so then developmental interventions in the Neonatal care nursery!" He slapped the textbook he was holding with the back of his hand.

"Neonatal care?" I echoed, confused by his choice of reading material.

"Oh aye, we are on to the next module of the course and I am seriously getting lost. It's all to do with child healthcare and development and we are looking at babies bought into the world too early and their developmental progress. Not really my area – think I need to go and chat up a midwife."

"Perhaps you could get some work on a maternity ward," I suggested, attempting to be helpful, except he shrugged.

"Yeah right, can you imagine me standing over your newborn baby, or you as you give birth – probably think the angel of death has arrived." His tone was sardonic and I recognised the signs of annoyance and anger at himself. Richard was very bad at being anything less the brilliant at his work and it would seem he was floundering. I sought to change the topic.

"Well, I had my manager marching around the Park Lane Hotel demanding that they let her hold a rock concert in their ballroom; earlier." My voice was flippant and it wrung a snort out of my companion.

"And are they letting her?" I nodded in reply and watched as his jaw metaphorically dropped. He let a low whistle. "That's amazing; don't think that happens often – usually more posh gatherings. Jim's played in a string quartet there a couple of times; helping out a mate. So who does she want playing?" His tone was light and curious, no doubt simply making small talk, but I hitched in my breath.

"Well, not sure." I looked at him and could tell his eyebrows were raised in question, even though they were hidden. "Peter, Fiona's partner, remember I told you about him – he wants something quite heavy – Metallica was his specific wish; whilst Fiona wants anyone who is trendy so she can claim street cred." I plunged on ahead, not letting him get in a word. "So, um I suggested _Cluinn_ to them – thought you rather bridge the gap and you are in London, which helps and available in two weeks; which also helps and would really save my job if you could get me out of this difficult situation because my bosses are not rooted in reality." I garbled the last few words and then looked at Richard directly in the eye. Except he had his closed face on, even the unmasked side was hard and still, I could read nothing of him.

"Do you want us to play because you think we are the style she is looking for, or you can't think of anyone else, or you need me to save your back?" The words were spoken low and as cold as my abandoned cup of coffee on the table in front of us.

"The first," I squeaked, intimidated by his sudden coolness, "with perhaps a bit of the third thrown in as well!" That wrenched a smile from him. "It's on December twentieth, which is a Thursday and I hope you are free." Silence again, so I ploughed on ahead. "I mean if it goes ahead, the guest list is good, really good – could open doors." He smiled again; which was positive. "In fact maybe you could come and meet her now, work your charm on her and you know, signed sealed." Damn my voice had broken again and the words came out high pitched and desperate.

"I was gonna' fly back home for Christmas that day," Ric said without giving anything away. "As for being discovered, Jim and I are due to meet Eric St. John this afternoon, who heard us last night and wants to talk to us, so..." He trailed off and held my gaze intently. "You know Izzy, it's when you cry that I find myself weakening," as if on cue, I felt a tear well up in my ear and run down my cheek – I hadn't even realised that I had made myself so worked up and was quite surprised to see it appear. I suppose thinking about my father had bought my emotions to the surface, rather then being able to play it cool.

"Izzy, it's not worth it, I was only funning you. If you want us to play, we'll play. I am grateful you even thought of us you know. One support act doesn't make us well-known and even if this composer chap wants to meet us, he can hardly guarantee us fame. He isn't your Simon Cowell!" He leant over and clasped my hands in his. "I'll come and talk to your mad boss if you want." And then he bent down and kissed me on the lips.

I let out a sound that was half a laugh and half sob, not sure what to make of this new loving side that Ric was displaying, grateful for his kindness and willingness to help me out of my current hole. But I was feeling unsettled having met Mr Cheyne, realised the connection we had to each other. Once again I felt tears welling up.

"Izzy, you're teary again, what's the matter?" The soft Scottish lilt interrupted my thoughts. "It's not just your boss is it?"

"You're too good at reading me Ric," I backhanded the errant water out of my eyes. "It's stupid really, but I met the events manager at the hotel today and thought I recognised him. Funny thing is, he seemed to think he knew me. A colleague of mine did a bit of digging and found out he's the son of Dad's um..." I started to shake again, teeth chattering so that I couldn't get the words out. "Dad's old employers." I looked down and realised that Ric was holding my hand, rubbing it softly with his thumb and I stared at the long fingers clasping mine, the silver ring engraved with a Celtic pattern that he wore on his thumb, anything but his face.

"Aye, I can imagine that was a bit of a shock," he agreed softly. "But you don't have to see this guy if it brings back painful memories, don't have to work with him. Just avoid can't let one situation pull you down with everything you are achieving at the moment." He lifted our joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to my fingers. "Come on then Izzy, let's go and meet this old dragon boss of yours!" I dug a crumpled tissue out my coat and wiped my eyes, standing up and waiting for him to gather his things. He tossed a scarf around his neck and wrapping an arm around me, led me out of the building.

This closeness was starting to worry me. It was as if he were going out of his way to be demonstrative, to touch me and hold me, kiss me. Obviously his sung declaration of love was true and real. Then why did I feel so uncomfortable? I shook my head slightly and let him guide me down the street and back to my offices.

Fiona took one look at the tall intimidating man who stood there in his scruffy clothes, his gaze taking everything in with a confidant stare and a cocky smile on his lips before practically melting at his feet. She dragged him into her office and once in we were unable to hear what was being discussed, only a hum as the pitch of their voices rose and fell, but from what we could see they looked relaxed. It was over half an hour later that they finally emerged, Ric wandering out with a bemused smile on his face. He came and sat on the edge of my desk and I was about to turn and ask him how it went and for all the gory details of what was said when I realised that Fiona had joined us; hovering close by, listening in. Typical.

"Well," I said aiming for a nonchalant tone.

"Yeah, good. Fiona is going to come to a gig we're doing tomorrow, but it looks on track." He continued to smile as my boss' voice cut in like glass.

"And the other suggestion Richard!" He turned to me at the cue and the grin widened.

"And you get to fulfil your bet, on stage, at the party!" he said with a wicked chuckle. It took a moment for what he had said to sink in, before I realised that he was talking about our bet of three nights ago.

"Oh bugger!" I muttered to myself, him and whoever else was listening.


	21. Chapter 21

**Oh the muse has taken up residence and I cannot type fast enough. I hope you enjoy this chapter and must apologise for quoting song lyrics. It is something I hate - hate reading them in other people's stories as well, but sometimes you have to as part of the overall plot. Obviously having zero talent musically I have had to borrow and steal songs from living published artists and these are acknowledged at the end - but in the story they are suppose to have all been written by Richard. If you like this story please leave me a review, I keep only having three, but I know more people are reading, so please let me know what you think! Anyway, enjoy! Pips**

Chapter Twenty-One

"I'm gonna' kill him," I fumed to no one in particular for the hundredth time that day. "Slice him into little pieces and get great enjoyment from doing so." I was sitting in a hotel room, swathed in their thick white dressing gown, waiting for the makeup artist to come and transform me, at the behest of Alanya who flatly refused to let me go out on stage looking anything less then professional.

The waiting was the worst part of the whole day. Up until now the logistics of setting this goddamn party up had distracted me and when the myriad of chores had begun to wane into only a few final details, I was excused for a sound check and practice with the band. "For your starring role," Fiona Farrow had reminded me, with more then a hint of taunting in her voice.

My star role – the one I had been unwillingly forced into with very little notice. My idea of a mumbled tune in front of a few drunken friends had become very different now – I was due to sing in front of around two hundred people. Despite Ric's best assurances I knew I wasn't ready.

Two weeks had been stretched into exactly two weeks, one day and fourteen hours – give or take and I had spent most of that time being 'trained.' Whatever Richard had done to Fiona, mostly stand there and pout, I think, she had generously allowed me vast swathes of time off work to prepare for this evening. Therefore I left the office every evening at four and was made to do two or more hours of singing with Ric at the university, just the two of us and a piano where he critically ran me through the control, tone, balance and pitch of my voice.

He was a hard task master and these sessions always ended in tears, but in his new loving and giving way he took me in his arms, kissed away my worries and then took me home to cosset and comfort me, before turning to either the punishing amounts of work that he seemed to be ignoring or going out and performing with the rest of _Cluinn_.

We had followed this pattern for five days, before I was allowed out of the safety of that room and taken to meet the rest of the band. Obviously I was acquainted with Jim, but when I walked into that cold and drafty hall, the other two faces were strangers to me, even if I wasn't to them. I was amazed by the normality of the situation. Having only seem them performing, I was expecting the same level of noise, setup and costume. Instead it was four men and their instruments, the guitars plugged into smaller speakers, only two microphones standing on the stage of a very run down community hall.

I sat on a table, trying to dredge heat out of a radiator that wasn't complying and watched; trying to imagine myself on stage with them. There seem to be a great deal of light hearted bickering and swearing; but they were at ease with themselves and their instruments, switching ideas and plans, even if Ric seemed to have the final say in what was or wasn't run through.

Sandy was the drummer, blonde haired and beefy with a charming smile. Like all the members of this over educated band he had a degree in biochemistry and a day job working for a pharmaceutical company. Angus on bass guitar – delivery driver by day, degree in geophysics and of course Jim on lead guitar who proudly informed me that he was a man of leisure; although was shouted down as he apparently did a variety of jobs depending on his mood whilst also moonlighting in a string quartet. And as for Richard – it was obvious that he was the glue that held this motley crew together for he moved from guitar to keyboard with ease, picking up a violin where it was needed - all the time his clear powerful tenor leading the songs; most of them his own composition.

I had sat and listened to them for a whole weekend, providing drink and sustenance as required, critique when asked for and occasionally joining them in an odd singsong, feeling curiously out of place amongst all the testosterone. None of the songs seemed to please Ric for he either stopped halfway through, shaking his head and waving me away or would get to the end, a scowl furrowing his visible forehead and twisting his mouth. "It doesn't suit your voice," was his common excuse, which when I heard for the twentieth time caused me to reply with articulated fury of the four letter variety and storm off the stage kicking an empty guitar case in my frustration and anger.

"I know a song that would suit," Jim suggested quietly as four pairs of eyes followed me stomping across the hall and back to my perch on the table, amongst the debris of lunch.

"Oh bloody hoorah," was my only comment back as I drew my legs up to my chest, biting my lip and scowling at the scuffed floor. I was tired and fed up – the party was in five days and despite knowing that my singing had come on leaps and bounds, I had no idea what I would be performing on stage. At the moment Baa Baa Black Sheep seemed to be likely.

"What about 'Broken' Ric?" Jim suggested quietly. "You always said it would be better as a duet." I lifted my head for silence had descended over the band. Sandy was sitting stock still staring at Jim as if he was deluded and Angus' gaze was locked onto their lead singer. In turn Richard was standing as if carved from marble and yet the anger seemed to be pouring off him in waves. The seconds ticked by like hours and nothing was said.

"No," he finally replied, quietly and firmly, turning his back on his mates and running a hand through his hair. It was only because we had recently become so close that I realised he was seething with anger. Anger and distress.

"C'mon mate, you know it's the best one," Jim tried again and I sat up with interest, unsure what it was about this piece of music that I could not even listen to, let alone attempt to sing.

"I fucking well said no James," Richard hissed, as he lifted the strap of his guitar over his head, propped it against a speaker and jumped down off the stage. "Not now, not ever, for no one," was his parting shot as he strode up the length of the room and out the double doors at the other end. We all stood frozen as the door swung back into his frame and I glanced over at Jim, unsure what to say or do, not fully understanding the situation. Except he too was looking as confused as everyone else.

I clambered off my uncomfortable perch and followed Ric's footsteps, aware that the rest of the men were watching me. A glance around the drab foyer decorated in those beloved seventies colours of pale blue walls and grey linoleum, did not reveal him and I began to wonder if he had walked out entirely. To be honest if he was feeling even a fifth as fed up as I was, it wouldn't be a surprise. Only the fact that Ric was here had kept me glued to the table.

Outside the day was doing it's best to be as depressing as possible. We had been inside for almost five hours and the brief winter's daylight was already drawing to a close, the cloud covered sky becoming even darker, the wind whipping down the street; blowing rubbish before it. Reluctantly I opened the door, getting a face full of blowing wind, whipping my hair up around my head and bringing tears to my eyes with the stinging cold.

Thankfully Richard was sitting on the low wall at the front of the community centre, his legs stretched out in front of him, clad in the tight black jeans that highlighted their long length. One arm curled against his body, the hand drawn up inside the sleeve for warmth, the other pressed to his mouth, pushing the half mask he was wearing into his face.

"Ric," I spoke loudly, although the wind wiped my words away from me, tossing them down the street with all the other scattered detritus. There was nothing to it, so I went and sat next to him, realising that he was upset as he lifted his hand from his mouth to dash moisture from his eyes; his lips trembling as he did so. He still lifted his spare arm and wrapped it around me, silently pulling me into his side, sharing what little warmth our bodies hadn't had stolen by the biting wind. "Shall we go inside," I spoke close to his ear. "It's bloody freezing out here. We can go and sit in the foyer." We stood as one and made our way back inside and sunk onto the scabby chairs, that matched the depressing decor.

"I wrote it after Mam died," he spoke quietly, holding my hand and pushing the cuticles back absentmindedly. "I sort of had this dream and well – shit no, it's stupid. But I never ever intended anyone to hear it."

"Well then you don't have to, there must be plenty of stuff there that I can sing," I began to make customary excuses.

"Oh aye, how about Old McDonald had a Farm?" The humorous sarcasm was back. "No Izzy, Jim is unfortunately right. It would be the best one and if you can do this for me, I can at least provide you with the best bloody song I can write and you can sing." He paused. "And maybe by you singing it, then it won't be her song anymore, it'll be yours and that wouldn't be a bad thing would it." I mutely shook my head, not knowing what to say. "So come on then let's go back inside and see if we can get it down before I fall over with exhaustion, what do you think?"

"Okay, I'm game if you are," I shrugged and let him pull me to my feet, wrapping my arms around his lean waist. He dropped a kiss on my hair and pulled open the doors to the hall. All the boys stood there in a row, lost without their leader all of them with identical expressions of relief as we walked through the doors. Jim was the first to approach, wariness in his eyes as he looked over Ric and I his eye lingering on the way our arms were wrapped around each other.

"You all right mate," he questioned. Ric simply looked at him and in a lightening flash had detached his arm from around me and punched his friend in the face, flipping his head back. "Shit you bastard, what was that for?" Jim said catching his breath and glaring back at his companion who stood his hands on his hips and fire in his eyes. "I said I'm sorry."

"Yeah, apology accepted you wanker," Richard said and before I could take a breath or a step forward they were giving each other manly hugs with lots of back slapping. "Don't be such a Nancy boy Jamie McCullough, I didn't hit hard, can't afford to bruise my hand at this stage of the game!"

****

Even in my distressed state the memory bought a smile to my lips – so typically male – violence first and reconciliation second. Jim did not seem to be particularly put out by the punch and had finished the hug by getting Richard in a headlock and refusing to let go, leaving them wrestling on the floor.

But relief from my nerves was only temporary – how I wished Ric was around to comfort me, but we had both been busy up until now, him with a sound check and me with other party details. Then he succumbed to makeup and I hadn't seen him since. Instead I was left by myself to switch between utter fury at how my bet had been blown out of proportion and a jumble of nerves.

When there was a finally a knock on the door I jumped out of my chair and rushed over, flinging it open; ready to fall into his arms. However I was bought up short because it wasn't my housemate, lover, teacher; sort of boyfriend. Instead it was Ralph Cheyne.

"Hi Isabella," he said with a soft grin that I returned before I was almost aware of what I was doing. "Sorry didn't mean to surprise you, just when I found out what you were doing, had to come and wish you luck."

"I, I didn't think you were working tonight," I stuttered foolishly, with a shake of my head.

"I'm not," he waved at himself and I suddenly noticed that instead of wearing a suit he was dressed down in jeans and a shirt. "I invited myself to the party. I hear the band is pretty good and you discovered them! And then I heard that you were singing..."

"Uh yeah," I let out a cross between a grimace and a smile, for it seemed the rumour mill was currently in full swing. Discover wasn't quite accurate. "Would you like to come in and," I hesitated suddenly aware of my state of dishabille, not sure what to do, caught in between the desperate desire for company and the awareness that having a man I barely knew (childhood aside) in my hotel room did not make for good gossip.

Thankfully he was better mannered and smiled that preppy heart breaking smile again. "No, better not. But good luck all the same and I will try and speak to you later." He turned with a wave and walked back down the hallway, his shoes making no sound on the plush carpet, leaving me clinging to the door and watching him go, grateful for the effort he made to come and find me.

I had been rummaging my memory banks and with concerted effort found I could recall several hazy memories in his company. Family barbecues, long walk with dogs, water fights in a swimming pool. They were all half formed and all seemed to be in the summer, tinged with nostalgic golden light of happier days. Not surprising I hadn't let myself remember them.

But that was then and this was the now and glancing at the clock in the room I realised that the band would be making its debut about this time and here I was still in a dressing gown and no sign of anyone who could help me do anything about it.

Ten minutes wasted with aimless channel hoping on the television concluded with a knock on the door again, revealing Alanya and two others who turned out to be the makeup artist and costumer. I gazed at them in puzzlement until she turned to me with a sparkle in her eyes. "Didn't Ric tell you that he asked me to go all out on this one?"

"No. And what does 'all out' mean by the way?" Immediately I was suspicious, heckles raised. I didn't like Richard in domineering mode.

"Just that he wants you to feel the part and hopes that if you look the part it will help. Hence employing my services. Right, hair, makeup, clothes. We have just under the hour to make you look fantastic."

"Need longer then that," I mumbled, sitting down at the desk where the makeup artist had laid out a bewildering spread of cosmetics, my head bobbing up and down as the hairdresser expertly combed my dark wet tangles.

Half an hour later and I was amazed. Even compared to Mags professional hand I looked amazing, my eyes huge in kohl, face highlighted and enhanced so I look like I had cheekbones that could cut, lips in a red pout and hair in a long tousled waves. It was hard to resist posing in front of the mirror and I glanced longingly at its reflective surface, finding it difficult to believe that the exotic creature staring back was me. That was until I saw Alanya pulling some clothes out of the bags.

"Laney what the hell is that?" I asked spinning round and pointing a neatly polished finger at the items now laid out on the bed, the fake tattoo that had been painted on my shoulder rippling.

"Clothes." Her tone was all sweetness and light as if she had been forewarned that my reaction might be a little dramatic. I felt justified in my melodrama because calling them clothes was quite a compliment. One was a pair of trousers that at a glance I could tell would be tight, which I could have handled if they had not been artfully ripped in horizontal tears all down the front of both legs. Corset tops, belts with three buckles, shoes that had heels to make a girl cry with pain – it was all there.

It was with much bargaining and some slight bullying on Alanya's behalf that I was talked into the air conditioned trousers, a vertical pair of heels and a small black t-shirt, my waist cinched in with a belt that wouldn't have been out of place in a bondage scene. How I was supposed to walk onto the stage, let alone sing, I was not sure. Alanya stood back and ran a critical eye over me.

"That should do it, you look fab Izzy – Ric won't know what's hit him!"

"Yes he will, it'll be me tripping over in these heels and taking him out at the same time," I deadpanned, causing the assorted people in the room to smile.

"He will be as proud as hell," she said taking me in a hug and air kissing my cheek in an expert model way, so that my makeup wouldn't smudge. "He already is."

"What?" Whilst Richard had been more supportive and loving during my training he was still annoyingly silent on my progress and ability and I grabbed onto the comment like a dog with a bone. "Laney?" Except she smiled enigmatically and ushered me out of the room towards the lifts, our arms linked.

"He has been behaving himself hasn't he?" she said confidentially as we travelled down to the ground floor. "I gave him a stern talking to, about his behaviour and he promised that he was going to try harder then normal – not just be a pig headed male Scot. I hope he put it into action."

"Yes, well..." My head was swirling with information. Ric's changed of heart was because of a lecture by Alanya? I found it all too much to compute, especially when coupled with the fact that he thought I could sing. Suddenly I realised the noise was several decibels louder and that we were in fact approaching the back stage of the ballroom stage. Clever Laney had distracted me all the way down, made me too busy to worry about what was coming next.

I stood in the wings, just able to see the audience out of the corner of my eye, who all seemed to be having a good time. Fiona and Peter were opposite, looking as if they were torn between enjoying themselves and checking up on the evening and I knew Rachel and my other colleagues were all out there working their butts off. This is my job, that's all, I tried to counsel myself. Go on stage; sing the song, bow and leave.

I felt a tug on my jeans as my receiver was put in place and the microphone handed to me and then stood there waiting, trying to zone out, ignore the frantic waving of my boss who had just noticed my presence and let the end of the song wash over me. With closed eyes I heard the change from electric guitar to acoustic and Ric's gravelly tenor strike up the next song. It was time.

_I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh  
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away  
I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well  
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain_

'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome  
And I don't feel right when you're gone away

I took a deep breath, it was nearly here.

_You've gone away, you don't feel me, here anymore_

And as the chord came I stepped on to the stage and focused on the man I was suppose to be singing to.

_The worst is over now and we can breathe again  
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away  
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight  
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain_

My eyes widened at the sight of Ric as he turned and faced me, a grin on his face and the most maniacal mask covering half his face. Black with intense etching all over it, the edges curling down across his cheeks; it distorted the shape and plans of his face so that it seemed to loom down, aided by the lighting. He wore it with his hair slicked back, his eyes ringed with black makeup so that his skin merged into the mask and his iris' were intensified. His t-shirt was tight, his arms oiled to highlight the subtle muscles and his elaborate tattoo; sweatbands around his wrists to stop the sweat running into his hands. His legs were clad in tight black denim, ripped across front and back in a similar fashion to the ones I was wearing. The whole look was topped off with heavy black boots over the top, buckles and chains seeming to hold them on. In a flash of inspiration I realised that my clothes echoed his, as I took a deep breath and we sang in unison.

_'Cause I'm broken when I'm open  
And I don't feel like I am strong enough  
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome  
And I don't feel right when you're gone away_

_'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome  
And I don't feel right when you're gone away_

I sang the chorus with him again, the words flowing out of my mouth before leaving him to croon the last words.

_You've gone away  
You don't feel me here anymore._

As the words fell from his lips and his fingers plucked the last few notes from the guitar, backed by the full band, the crowd burst into cheering and screaming, the noise carrying me on a wave and I suddenly had a moment of clarity about the buzz that came with performing. However it was all over now – I had won my bet, didn't need to sing anymore and could leave the stage; however I was strangely reluctant to give up the emotion that was flowing through me, the heady sense of success that I achieved.

Richard looked at me and nodded towards the wings where the sound man was holding up a board with the name of the next song on, a reminder of where to go next and with the slightest of nods I sealed the bargain and sang again, this time in unison with him.

_I'll Take These Storms Away  
Start A Brand New Story  
I'll Make It Through Each Day  
Singing Death Or Glory  
Lord Won't Answer Me  
I Won't Let It Bring Me Down_

_And Though These Clouds Are Grey That I'm Living Under  
I Know I'll Be Ok With The Rain Or Thunder  
I Hear It Calling Me  
I Will March Into The Sound_

_I Just Get The Feeling  
You're Holding Me Down  
And These Answers I'm Needing  
I Guess There Being Smothered By The Sounds  
Of All This Emotion And All Of This Hate_

_Still I Keep Searching For Something To Put My Faith In  
To Find My Place So I Keep Singing!_

_I'll Take These Storms Away  
Start A Brand New Story  
I'll Make It Through Each Day  
Singing Death Or Glory  
Lord Won't Answer Me  
I Won't Let It Bring Me Down_

_Hold On Hold On  
We'll Move Along  
Where We Belong  
Where We Belong  
My Heart My Song_

_I Don't Need A Vision  
A Light To Embrace  
I Don't Need False Promises, Hopes And Wishes  
To Find My Place So I Keep Singing!_

I could not describe the euphoria of standing on stage singing, watching the crowd beyond the footlights going wild at the music. Their enthusiasm was like a drug to me and I found myself singing even louder and stronger, my voice blending with Ric's as he sang, his fingers flashing over the struts of the guitar, his body angled towards mine, the music blaring out around us.

As the song came to an end once again cheering filled the air and there was little I could do except stand there and beam. I was briefly aware of Richard's voice over the speakers, talking about the other band members, each playing their piece and then my name being spoken; more cheering from the crowds before I step forward bowing low and standing again so the blood rushed to my head in a wave. Who needed narcotics when a natural high was so good?

There was absolutely no lingering reluctance when the last of the music came blaring out. A song that Richard had taught me a couple of days ago, remaining silent on when I might sing it, but now his intention was clear and I lifted the microphone to my lips.

_How can you see into my eyes like open doors?  
Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb  
Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it back home_

_Bring me back to life_

I heard Richard's voice echo behind me, gravelly and deep, a slight hoarseness from having sung now for almost two hours. Our voices merged and twisted around each other, almost as if we were battling for control of the song before I finally belted out the last lines of the lyrics, holding the note strong and controlled. One final electric whine from the guitars and the stage was plunged into darkness, my heart hammering with adrenaline.

In the gloom afforded by the lights on the equipment Richard came over and took my hand. His palms were hot and sweaty and his breathing heavy with the exhaustion from performing. "I knew you could do it Izzy," he whispered, listening to the roar of the crowd. The lights came on again and the whole band took a bow, before we trooped off with exhaustion.

I was exhausted but jittery, not knowing what to do with myself. Part of me wanted to collapse in a heap, another run away and hide, the emotion all too overwhelming and a third wanted to grab Richard and lock ourselves together in a room, make love with all the passion and intensity I had sung with.

He took one look at me as he accepted the towel that was handed to him and after wiping the lower half of his face, steadied me with a gentle hand on my shoulder and patted my neck dry. "Your bosses are right behind you," he said soft and low, his eyes flicking to the right of my head. I took a deep breath before they pounced.

"Richard, what have you done to our little mouse?" Fiona gushed, her talons gripping my arms to my sides. "Isabella, you were quite magnificent up there – fantastic, people will be talking about this for weeks to come! There are several people you must meet by the way and then..."

"Fiona, I just need to spend some time with Izzy," Richard said, his accent rough. "She needs to cool down and then we will come back and speak to people. Please excuse us."

"Of course Richard, not a problem." My boss practically cooed at him. "See you in a little bit." He wrapped a sweaty arm around my shoulders and led me away, back to the bedrooms upstairs. The sound of laughter and chatting from one made me realise that the other boys were already occupying one suite and so we fell into the other darkened room, our lips locked together as we kissed desperately, all the emotion that we had sung about on stage coming out.

"Do you want a shower?" He asked gruffly and I nodded exhaustion replacing the earlier euphoria. Ric gently led me into the glamorous bathroom, leaning into the luxurious shower and turning it on before coming and standing in front of me as I leant against the marble countertop. His eyes were fathomless in the strange exotic mask he wore and when he briefly closed them, I could no longer see where the mask ended and his skin began. His sigh was one of true weariness and I realised that if I were tired, he must be totally exhausted for his time had been spent coaching me, practicing with the band and still doing his degree work and part-time at a solicitors.

His lips sought mine and I placed a light almost chaste kiss over them, my hands curling up under the surface of the mask and prying it off. His intake of breath was sharp as I gently tugged and there was a strange sound as the skin and covering parted. "Is it glued on?" I asked in amazement, examining the underside of the covering and see the small globs of adhesive still stuck to the inside. He nodded and smiled wryly.

"Best way to keep it on when there is lots of movement." I looked up, concerned for it seemed to be painful for him but couldn't help smiling at the sight for the makeup had been put on with the mask in mind and now with the kohl ringing his eyes in full view, he simply looked...odd.

"You've got serious panda eyes," I said reaching up to gently smudge the makeup with my finger.

"You got any makeup remover? All my stuff is next door."

"Laney left me some, although shouldn't we stay all dressed up if Fiona wants to see us again? I am amazed she let us go in the first place – you seem to have her under your spell Ric."

"Huh? No, she just wants to shag me that's all." He responded gruffly, no pride in his voice. "That woman is a total snake, be careful with her Izzy because all she wants is associated glory. You've done your job tonight, fantastically well; you don't have to show another eyelash down there if you don't want to." He wandered out into the bedroom, sitting at the desk and expertly removing the thick makeup before silently handing me some soaked cotton wool. "I'm going to have a shower, get changed and then decide what I am going to do." The tiredness was evident in his voice and posture and he stood up, pressed a kiss to my cheek and went into the bathroom. There I heard the rhythmic thud as first his boots and then his jeans and belt fell to the floor. A low moan indicated that he had climbed under the warm running water and I imagined him standing there naked, wanting to join him, but trying to let him have a moment of peace and relaxation first.

The buzz had left my head and exhaustion was replacing it, my limbs heavy with tiredness. The thought of having to go downstairs smile at people, talk; chat and answer questions was too much. I stared at the cotton wool in my hand and leaning towards the mirror began to gently dab at my eyes.

A knock at the door had jarred me from my thoughts and I looked towards to the door, noting for the first time that the noise from the other room had quietened. Possibly the boys coming to find out what we were doing then. I carefully closed the bathroom door and flung open the main entrance.

"Izzy!" Ralph Cheyne beamed at me from the other side, with enthusiasm, his formality of earlier gone explained by the whiff of alcohol on his breath, as he leant forward. "Izzy, you were fantastic, beautiful woman. I had to come and tell you that. You simply blew me away!" I couldn't help but laugh for whilst his words came with a slur of drunkenness they were still kind.

"Thank you Ralph, that's very nice of you."

"I came to whisk you away and take you out to dinner Izzy my dearest," he continued, stepping forward and wrapping a friendly arm over my shoulder, resting a great deal of weight on me in his insobriety. You deserve to be wined and dined and feted as the star you are!" My laughter was more forced this time and I glanced over my shoulder hoping that Richard might come out of the bathroom and rescue me from this man's drunken intentions.

"Um Ralph, that's very kind of you," I said gently slipping out from under his arm. "But I need to tidy up and get changed first so why don't I meet you downstairs hmm?" I gave him a non too subtle push so he stood outside the threshold again. "Give me fifteen minutes and I will be in the lobby."

"No Isabella, you are beautiful as you are, no need to have to do anything. Come now."

"No," my voice was firm and I shook slightly, he was persistent in his drunkenness. I pushed him further into the corridor. "Fifteen minutes," I repeated and to try and take the sting out of my actions and not make him suspicious I blew a kiss, before shutting the door in his face.

I immediately spun around aBnd into the bathroom, my hand shaking as I held it out to the man standing on the bathmat. Ric was out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his hips, wet hair slicked back from his head. As he lifted his twisted face to me and held out his arms I fell into them trembling, ignoring the fact he was still slightly damp from his ablutions. "Get me away from here please Ric, far, far away."

* * *

The songs are:-

Broken by Seether (featuring Amy Lee) from their album Disclaimer.

Where we belong by Lostprophets from their album The Betrayed.

Bring me to Life by Evanescence from their album Fallen


	22. Chapter 22

**This story is writing itself! Please keep reading and please please more reviews!**

Chapter Twenty-Two

Richard was as good as his word and after forcing me to grab a few hours sleep in the hotel bed, he woke me at four in the morning and hustled me into a waiting taxi. I was barely awake and took very little noticed of my surroundings, trusting in his judgment as we were dropped off at Victoria rail station and onto a waiting train. Only there did my mind notice that it was taking us out to the airport, steaming at top speed through the Surrey countryside; home in my youth.

We were both exhausted after last night and said little to each other, half asleep in our seats. Through slitty eyes I took in the fact that he had changed from his flamboyant attire of the night before back into his usual clothes and once again looked like the man I shared my life with. If anything he was possibly a little smarter then normal; his clothes lacking their customary holes; but his mask was plain; his sweater and jeans simple and unadorned.

We left the train and I inhaled the deep aroma of fresh early morning air, coughing as it came with a dose of the ever present jet fuel of an airport. My mind refused to cooperate with any suggestion of a destination, but as I had not packed either clothes or passport, I could only put my trust in my escort.

We briefly stood on the platform, our bags at our feet, my eyes widening as Ric lifted the mask off his face, tucked it into his bag and replaced it with a fedora hat, pulling the brim down low and wearing his glasses on his face. He chuckled hoarsely as he saw me watching. "Experience has taught me that security don't take kindly to people wearing masks at airports. It is easier then trying to argue the case and missing the flight." He said it with an element of knowing and I didn't question him, just let him lead me through the labyrinth of corridors and walkways into the main departures hall.

It was as if had walked into a different existance, for although most of the world around us still slept, the marbled hall buzzed with life as people queued and checked in to their flights. Richard easily negotiated the crowds and before I knew it we were standing at a desk handing passports and bags over and I was still none the wiser as to our final destination.

As he held our passports and the tickets in a tight grip in his hand I was unable to look at the boarding pass, ignorant about the details of when and where we were going. Part of me was happy to hand all the responsibility over to him for it was easy and I could remain in my little sleepy cocoon. However the other half, my newly responsible side could not resist. "Where are we going?"

He turned and a smile widened his mouth , creasing up the corners of his eyes. "I'm taking you home," he said simply.

***

I gazed out the window as the plane made its final descent, looking at the uniform rows of houses and tower blocks, spread out like a doll's landscape below us. My heart was beating with anticipation and nerves, unsure why Richard had bought me home with him and how long he had been planning this. Was it pre-meditated and planned or had he simply made the arrangements on the spur of the moment, based on my desperate plea last night? If so he had organized a lot in the few hours that I had managed to grab sleep – obviously not joining me in repose.

As soon as we had taken off Ric had pulled his hat further down across his eyes, turned his head in towards the edge of the seat and fell asleep, his breathing rhythmic and silent. Whilst I did not begrudge him the repose it did leave me with an hour in which to question and query why I was on a plane up to Glasgow and what would greet me when I got there.

Yesterday evening seemed to be a dream and I found it hard to believe that I was ever up on stage, singing my heart and soul out to the audience in front of me; loving every minute of it. I found it even harder to reconcile the fact that I had done it wearing clothes that I would, well, find it hard to put on normally; or the fact that Richard seemed to think the whole performance went well. The only trouble was that it now seemed far too mundane to go back to being Izzy the PR girl. Of course, I reasoned that it would be a sensible day job; but I could finally get an inkling about the duality of Ric's life, why he was so willing to burn the candle at both ends, studying and performing. The study might give him a job for life – but the singing; what an adrenalin rush!

In the cold light of day I was also able to look at Ralph Cheyne's visit in a more positive light. Yes, he had been drunk, but not aggressively so, his manner never threatening – I had just been so keyed up, the energy that had connected Richard and I on stage had still flowed between us and to break that bond seemed impossible the night before. Now in the warmth of sunlight I knew that I should send him a text and apologise, for the person in the seat next to me was back to being just a man and no longer the semi-god that I had worshipped the night before.

As the plane banked, I caught a glimpse of the stark rolling green hills, cut into by the sprawl of civilization below. The plane dipped the other way and my view changed into clouds and blue sky once again, but I saw sunlight sparkling off the water of the Clyde as we spiraled our way down over Glasgow. The movement finally caused Richard to stir and he lifted a sleepy head and looked at me with a degree of confusion. "We're landing," I said unnecessarily, for the plane dropped causing my ears to pop. He held out a large warm hand and grasped mine in his palm, smiling dopily.

"We'll be home and dry in just under an hour," he said, the voice of authority. I simply nodded and swallowed, a new set of worries breaking open as I thought about his home. His comments about where he grew up echoed around in my head, the hated thought of council estates and violence, a far cry from the genteel protected existence I had been bought up with. The idea of spending Christmas on the fifteenth floor of a tower block was very unappealing.

The thought stayed with me as we disembarked, made our way through security and out into a taxi. It was still early and I found it disconcerting to get caught up in rush hour traffic that was still making its way to work. I had been up for hours and to think that it wasn't already halfway through the day was odd. So odd, that I barely noticed as we pulled up outside a ruthlessly neat 1930s semi in a road of equally well kempt houses.

"Are you coming?" Ric called back into the car as he climbed out, paying the taxi driver and getting our bags out the boot. There was a childish excitement about him, a mischievous grin that tugged at his mouth.

"But I thought you lived on a council estate," I said looking around.

"Aye, this is the very edge of it – _Old_ Drumchapel," he emphasized, where the nice people live; supposedly. Lots of curtain twitching." He seized my pull along suitcase and his bag and strode up the small drive towards the front door. "Are yu coming?" His accent was getting broader after only a small amount of time spent in his native city – I doubt I would understand him at all in a few days. Keeping my thoughts to myself I hurried to join him, grateful that this was not a tower block.

He opened the door and walked in, the grin on his face widening as we stood in the small hallway. Two adults and their bags made for a squash but we didn't move or say a word. I heard the sound of two adults talking to each other, their accents carrying out from the back. "Did I just hear the door go? Brian go and take a peek. It better not be those pesky children from down the road." The scrap of a chair in response to the request and a heavy step as a tall grey haired man stepped into the hallway.

"Richard!" His voice was full of astonishment and warmth as he took in the spectacle by his front door.

"Hello Granda!" He moved forward and took his grandfather in a one armed hug, the older man wrapping his arms around him, tears welling up in his old eyes.

"What a surprise, we weren't sure you were coming back." He looked up and noticed me. "And with such a pretty lass. Is this Isabella?" I smiled in shock and surprised, firstly that he knew my name and secondly at the gentle way he pronounced it – _esa-bellha – _rather then the harsh vowels of the south.

"Aye, we came for Christmas –if that's okay." He shrugged and smiled as he stood to one side, obviously expecting me to introduce myself. I never had a chance for a shrill voice broke up the proceedings.

"Who are you talking to you daft man. I just wanted to check on, oh!" Rounding the door, a small woman came through the door. Her bright blue eyes matched those of the younger man, although she probably only came up to his shoulder in height, even shorter then my five and a half feet. "Richard!" The tone admonished, praised and queried all at once. However her face was wreathed in smiles as she opened her arms and was enveloped in a hug by the man whose name she had spoken.

I felt lost amongst such reunion, not knowing where to go, what to do. My link to these people was purely through Richard and he was busy making his own contact. Exhaustion and hunger flowed through my limbs and I felt myself swaying slightly, the happy scene in front of me going slightly blurry and unfocused as I tried to make out what was being said. "Oh the pur wee lass," was the last comment I heard as I gave in trying, letting the situation overwhelm me and slumped to the floor in faint.

***

When I came to I was lying on a double bed, propped up on pillows, the light of the day filtering through net curtains. I had obviously been out long enough to be carried into this room, but otherwise had little idea of the time. I had stuffed my watch into my bag as I went through security at the airport and had neglected to put it back on, so had no way of telling the time.

I did feel rested, the lights that had been flashing in front of my eyes vanished and I didn't feel dizzy when I raised myself up on my elbows and gingerly sat up. At almost the same time the door creaked open and Ric came in clutching two mugs of tea. His unmasked visage bore a smile as he saw me awake and he sat on the edge of the bed and passed me a mug.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah. What's the time?"

"Past ten. You kept mumbling about letting you sleep, so Gram said there was no harm. You've been asleep over two hours. Mind you so have I."

"Have you?" I glanced over the room and at the duvet which was uncreased except for where I had laid. There was no evidence of him in the room, even a bag. He caught my hasty assessment and gave an apologetic grin.

"You're in a Catholic household, aye." I nodded cautiously. "So no bed sharing- sorry. This is my Mam's old bedroom and I am in my old shoebox next door. I am amazed Gram hasn't kept my old Snoopy duvet cover – it still seems to be a timewarp in there."

"Oh can I see? I scrambled off the bed and followed him out the door as he smiled with a shake of his head.

"Room on the left Izzy. Straight ahead of you is the bathroom and to the left is my grandparent's room." I headed straight for the door slightly ajar and went in stopping in surprise. It was small, perfect for a little child, but otherwise as he had correctly surmised – a box room. The walls were painted a light blue and the curtains held pictures of rockets and planes. The walls were covered in posters and certificates of all description and the rumpled duvet cover was indeed the pattern of a teenager – all grey and red stripes.

His unpacking had got as far as dumping what seemed to be the entire contents of his bag on the bed and my tidy mind found me wandering over and picking it up, folding the tops and trousers and putting them in neat piles on the small desk that was next to the bed. It was charming to see the house he had grown up in, especially as it was not a neglected damp flat in a tower block as my stereotypical imagination had lead me to believe.

"Had you pre-arranged all this Ric?" I asked as I folded and smoothed, absent mindedly passing him his mask that lay amongst the clutter. He took it from my hands, but did not press it to his face immediately, but stood in the doorway, running his fingers along the edge and weaving them with the elastic that held it in place.

"No," he shook his head. "I was always planning to come back for Christmas and I did wanna' invite you, but wasn't sure. When you said you wanted to get away I thought it must be fate. I just arranged it all last night. Don't worry; I cleared it with your charming bosses. You are due back to work on the 2nd January." He shrugged again and I realised that whilst he tried to act as if it had not taken any effort or bother on his behalf he had moved the earth for my tired plea.

I stopped my housekeeping and walked over to him wrapping my arms around his neck. "Thank you Ric, you are so kind and thoughtful." I pressed my lips to his and drew back. "I usually hate Christmas. I go to Mags and her mother for Christmas day, but otherwise I usually spend most of it under the duvet cover with the remote for company. This is the first Christmas that is going to mean something in a long time." At this he smiled widely and returned the kiss, his tongue wiggling in between mine, seeking the recess of my mouth, caressing and teasing me with his actions before drawing away with a sigh. "We had better go and introduce you to my grandparent's before the day is much older. I don't want them to come looking."

"I can't believe I fainted," I shook my head and tried to tidy my hair and straighten my clothes in the small mirror that hung on the wall, grimacing at the tired bags beneath my eyes. "I look awful," I moaned and turned to face him. "Can I borrow one of your masks?" I teased, although stopped when I saw the look on his face. "Sorry, not funny – apologies. But aren't you going to put yours on? Not that it isn't nice to see your face, but..." I trailed off looking at him in confusion, it suddenly dawning on me that he hadn't taken the first opportunity to clamp the covering to his features as he usually did.

"Gram doesn't let me wear them in the house," he said softly, placing the mask down on the desk with a small shake of his head. "She says it's an insult to my mother's memory to hide and that they also give her the willies – that's the creeps to you and me.

"And you let a seventy something year old woman tell you what you can and cannot do? Ric you are twenty nine. Why should it worry you if she doesn't like the mask? And to that fact why can't we sleep in the same bed?" Suddenly the thought of not having him curled up next to me every night was abhorrent.

"That is not just any seventy year old woman Izzy," Ric said with a gesture in the direction of downstairs. "She is the woman who raised me and guided me through life and she was also the head midwife at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary for years. She made other nurses quake in their boots – there is no crossing her even if I wanted to, believe me. She just tore a strip off me for letting you get so tired as to faint." He smiled to soften the words. "And I just go out a lot as well. So come on, let's go and meet the devil child's relatives." He sighed and grabbing my hand pulled me through the door and downstairs into the kitchen at the back of the house, where light flooded in through double doors overlooking a beautifully kept garden.

"Ah Isabella, you're awake!" His grandmother greeted me as she stood at the stove top frying what seemed to be a panful of meat. The enticing smell of bacon wafted over to me and my stomach let out a rumble as the aromas reminded me how hungry I was. She chuckled and wiping her hands on the apron moved over to me and stood in front with a smile. She picked up one of my hands in between hers and for a brief moment I thought she was going to shake it, before I realized that she was taking my pulse. "Nice and fine day – you are quite bony. I just think my dolt of a grandson let you get too tired. Now you must be hungry, sit down and have a late breakfast. Richard make some more tea before you are much older lad." And with that I was welcomed into the Stewart household.

The days passed in a happy blur, so warm and hospitable was the welcome I had received. I forced Richard to take me into Glasgow so that I could see the sights and cram in a little very late Christmas shopping. Although he had thoughtfully packed my bags – he had left out a few things I desired, including presents for both him and now his grandparents.

I was surprised how happy and peaceful the household seemed to be, given the tragedy they had been through, but when I quizzed Richard, he simply gave one of his maddening shrugs. "She finds great solace in her religion," he explained. "And by the way, we are all expected to go to midnight mass at Christmas you know!" The comment filled me with dread, for I hadn't set foot inside a church in a long time. Therefore it was with trepidation that on the 24th December at ten in the evening I changed into the sweater and skirt that I deemed suitable and joined Elsee in the front hall, noting that she too was suitably dressed up.

"Where are those blasted men," she turned to me. "Primping and preening no doubt like the jack robins they are. "Cameron, Richard," she shouted crisply. "Come down here, or we'll be late and won't get a seat and I am damned if I standing throughout mass in my own church. Father Reynolds can go on somewhat," she added to me in a confidential tone. I nodded with a smile, trying to look knowledgeable on the matter, but my sight was torn away as the men descended the stairs.

I had never seen Richard dressed up, unless you counted either his suit or stage clothes, both of which he wore like costumes. But now he descended the stairs, his grandfather close behind him both of them formally attired, red kilts swaying at their knees, cream stockings and hose. Their feet were clad in the traditional Gillie hose, their laces wrapped around their ankles and their top halves clad in the traditional Prince Charlie jackets. It was the most amazing sight to see these men so formally attired and I felt dull by comparison although could not help the smile that split my face as he approached me.

"You look amazing," I breathed, having never seen a man in full Scottish formal dress before.

"Aye well it's been a long time since I've worn it, but it still fits." He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. "So now I am all trussed up, let's go." We made a solemn party into the church, proudly sitting in a bench near the front, Richard's grandmother exchanging regal nods and polite conversation with people as the church filled up.

I was surprised to see Richard kneel down, bending his head in prayer, his lips moving whilst I awkwardly sat there, not quite sure what to do with myself. To copy the actions of my partner seemed to be jesting as I had not been bought up in this faith and would not be praying. In fact I was quite surprised a lightening bolt hadn't struck me down as I tried to enter the church. Instead there was a sense of excitement as the organ started to play, the congregation stood as one and we started to sing Christmas Carols.

It was late by the time we finished and got back to my host's house. I was tired but calm, having enjoyed the idea of celebrating the arrival of Christmas in such a time honoured way. It simply felt wonderful to belong – having been on the outside for so long, to be accepted and welcomed was the best Christmas present I could have been given.

The house had gone to sleep and I lay in my bed on the edges of repose when the door opened almost silently. In the dim light I made out the silhouette of Richard creeping around the edge of the bed. He crawled underneath and curled himself up against be, taking me into his arms.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered, pressing his mouth to my ear, almost breathing the words.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be in here," I said in reply and felt the vibration of his laugh.

"I had to give you your Christmas present." He shifted his hips forward and I felt the dig of his penis into my bottom. Thankfully abstinence hadn't sat well with me the past few days and I made my want known, leaning back against him in answer. He pressed small kisses to my neck, breathing softly and moving his lips to my ear, nibbling slightly. We moved together, trying not to make any noise, so our coupling was silent and gentle and when I came it was silent and intense and I collapsed against him shuddering and trembling.

"Merry Christmas," I spoke quietly, rolling over so that I faced him. I found myself welling up with my emotion for this man who had given me so much in the past few months. My life seemed so dull and dark before I met him and now it was as if I were a different person. "Ric, I, I, lo…" However before I could get the words out fully he pressed his finger to my lips and shushed me, shaking his head slightly.

"Don't say it Izzy, please don't – I know." He pressed his lips to mine again before drawing away. "I had better go, don't want to be found out in the morning." He slid away from me, fumbling slightly for his trousers and drawing them on before crouching down next to me. "Merry Christmas my darling Izzy. Merry Christmas."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

I didn't know if I was relived or upset when Christmas finally finished and we left the comforting embrace of Richard's grandparents. On the one hand it was lovely to be part of such a close knit family unit, sitting on the couch reading the paper, doing the crosswords, walking along the river and doing happy family things that I wasn't able to indulge in anymore. Watching Ric speak with his grandmother, about her experiences as a midwife; talking about his study, taking advice and for once being as much a young person looking for guidance as much as I did was refreshing. On the other hand it was also suffocating to be so cosseted and looked out for, when it was impossible to have the freedom to behave as I wanted.

The change was move evident in the man I sat next to in the car. Around his grandparent's he was polite, tended to be on the quiet side and helpful. No sarcastic rejoinders or swearing; even his mode of dress was more restrained and of course the biggest difference was that he did not cover his face. Instead he wore his glasses; hoping, as he told me in a private moment that it deflected from the sight of his cheek.

But now he was back to being the Ric I knew, this man who was my sort of boyfriend, mentor and confidante, flatmate and guide. He drove the car with a fixed gaze at the road in front of him, his choice of mask – the half face black one – meaning that all I could see from the passenger seat was the scowling plastic visage. Gone were the tidy blue jeans and shirts, back were the ragged black t-shirts and tight fitting jeans, scuffed boots and messy hair – it was as if a different person had sat next to me when he got in the car.

"Where are we going exactly?" I ventured after we had been driving for about half an hour. All the signposts pointed in the direction of Edinburgh, but Ric had not been specific about our final destination and knowing him the obvious choice would not be where we were headed.

"Jim's house," he replied, muttering a curse as a lorry trundled into his lane and cut him up. "Well, Jim's parent's house if you're being particularly pedantic – 'cause it's unlikely to be his." I found it a strange thing to say, given that whilst most people assume they would inherit something from their parents – to be so obviously matter of fact about not having a house left to you seemed odd, bordering on spoilt. That was until I saw the house.

Nearing two hours after we set off, we approached a small village, the contrast to the urban sprawl be had just left could not be more acute and I could understand the difference between Richard and Jim's upbringing - this was very safe and secure – the Scottish lowland equivalent of my childhood. We turned off the main road and drove between two gatehouses, built in the local red stone which is when I started to frown, wondering exactly where Richard was taking me. The road, or driveway we were on meandered through wood and parkland before opening into a huge sweep of lawn in front of the largest house I had ever seen.

"Holy shit," I murmured the frown growing deeper, at the sight of the neo-classical building in front of me, a sprawling edifice, several hundred years old, that looked like the sort of place listed in the National Trust Guide. The car swept round under the stone porch and into a parking space alongside some other non-descript vehicles. Richard turned the engine off and shifted slightly in his seat to face me, although I was busy with neck craned taking in the sights of the magnificent house and lands around it. "And we are where exactly?" Suspicion marked my words, not sure what his plan was and tempted to disagree with it. This place didn't seem to fit the description of 'Jim's parent's house'.

"Jim's parent's house," he replied, causing me to grind my teeth in frustration at his teasing, but a glance at him showed a deadly serious side to his face.

"Who live in an apartment in this beautiful listed building?" I asked with a note of hope in my question.

"Who are the Marquess and Marchioness of Granthorn actually," he replied dryly. "So Jim is in fact 'Lord McCullough, being a younger son – and the black sheep of the family and this is their country seat. How else do you think he manages to bum around London all day doing arse all and yet still seems to have money?"

"I don't know, I suppose part of me thought Alanya might bankroll him. No," I continued as Richard snorted and shook his head. "So he is there at his parent's largess? Jeez," I shook my head this time. "So how do I address his parents then? Not sure about this whole etiquette thing and I didn't bring a copy of Debrett's with me." Panic came out as sarcasm, it seemed to be catching.

"If you see them, which you may or may not," Richard said lacing his fingers with mine and smiling down at me, obviously charmed by my display of nerves, "then you can probably call them by their first names which are John and Marie – at least that is what I call them. However if you want to do it properly it is Lord and Lady Granthorn. But they don't stand on ceremony – trust me. They have four children – Jim is the youngest and I think they have seen everything and met everybody – strange masked friends included. Come on let's go in."

My knees quaked and I felt vastly underdressed and out of place as we approached the house, although Richard seemed familiar and rather then leading me through the vast entrance, wandered around the back and through a smaller door at the side and into a long low stone corridor. We were in the bowels of the house, servant quarters that only a hundred years ago would have been bustling with maids and butlers, but were now empty and echoing, except for the incongruous noise of heavy metal music blaring out from a room further along the flagstones.

Richard let go of my hand and wandered ahead along the hall where he stuck his head around the door. I could just see a smile breaking out on his face before he spoke. "Hey you old tosser, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas you sarcastic bastard," Jim's voice replied and I hesitated as the sound of laughter and backslapping echoed down the corridor. "Where's Izzy?" At the question I came and stood in the doorway, my eyes widening as I tried not to stare at the den like room we were standing in. It had been turned into a retreat, full of comfy chairs, posters on the walls and a ragged old rug over the floor, the feeling one of a student digs; not a classical country house. Jim wandered over and gave me a huge hug, which I returned glad of the familiarity in this strange situation.

Greetings over; he fell back into onto the tatty sofa and picked up a smoking rollup from the ashtray and inhaling, the sweet smoke hit me at the back of my nose and I realised the cigarette wasn't pure tobacco. I raised my eyebrows at Ric who stood in the middle of the room watching him. "Jim, its only just midday – bit early to get wasted isn't it?"

"Probably," he replied, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. "But I am fucking bored Ric, totally mind numbingly bored. Mater and Pater are away – again. Back for Hogmanay; when they are having a Ceilidh and Laney isn't due until this afternoon. Don't come down all hard on me – it's just one smoke and you know my darling woman will keep me in line."

"Ruin your voice smoking that," Ric warned, although he collapsed on the sofa next to his friend and held out his long fingers for the drug, taking a hypocritical drag when it was passed to him and blowing it out again before passing it to me. "Izzy?"

"Err," I hesitated, slightly surprised and alarmed at what we were doing, sitting in the basement of this listed building, smoking dope a couple of days after Christmas. It was a huge contrast to the rigid and structured household we had just left. "Um, okay," I crossed over and took the small stub from Richard's grasp, hoping that I didn't look quite like the novice I was and inhaled deeply, feeling the warm smoke in my lungs before blowing it out again with a wheezing cough, my eyes watering and my mouth on fire. My head was dizzy with the effect of inhaling and I sunk to the floor, tears in my eyes. "Oh god, I'm dying," I ground out between coughs, holding my hand out in an attempt to pass the shortening cigarette back to the boys.

Thankfully my boyfriend came to the rescue and knelt on the floor beside me, rubbing my back with a soft laugh, although I kept my eye resolutely on his shoe, refusing to look at him, my face hot with embarrassment and lack of oxygen. "Go and get her some water Jim," I heard him say softly and it was only when the tread of a foot crossed the threshold that he lifted my chin up with a gentle finger. "Sorry Izzy, I thought you had smoked before. I didn't think." He wrapped his arms around me, cuddling me to his body, aware of my embarrassment and I relaxed in the warmth of his embrace, my head clearing as I calmed down. We moved as one to the sofa, snuggling in the depths as rain started to beat against the window. In a bizarre sort of way it was quite cosy.

"Here you go Izzy, sorry 'bout that," Jim returned passing me a glass of water and collapsing in an old chair next to us as I had taken his seat on the sofa. "Are you hungry, d'you feel like some lunch? Then if you want I'll give you a tour of the place – if you like mouldy walls and plasterwork that is. I asked Hanty to make the Blue Bedroom up for you, so you get a bit of privacy – Johnnie and his bairns are due here in two days otherwise I would have put you upstairs and let you have the run of the second floor. The way I see it we need to be in Edinburgh for Hogmanay as I am damned if I am staying here with a house full of people. The flat is free so we can crash there for the night."

I glanced at Ric, unsure if Jim's breathless monologue was due to his smoking or not and saw him nod almost imperceptibly. "So what is the big deal about Hogmanay then?" I asked, laughing slightly at the shocked expression on both the men's faces.

"Hogmanay is Scottish New Year," Richard explained to me as he casually played with my hair. "If you think London does New Year well, wait until you see Edinburgh!"

"Bands, fireworks, funfair, street performers, you name it. Have to do it at least once before you die." Jim added in a rush of words again.

"Or twenty-one times in my case," Ric interjected again. "Seriously Izzy, it'll be the best night of your life. Almost," he added whispering in my ear and teasingly biting the earlobe. "You going to make us lunch then Jim or do we have to go out and shoot it ourselves?"

"No, no," he heaved himself up from the chair again and with a nod of his head indicated that we should follow. He ambled along the corridor and dove up a narrow winding wooden staircase, emerging on the floor upstairs where he led us into the kitchen. I followed in great bemusement trying to take in all the detail as I went, although it seemed that we had not entered the formal part of the house, for the decor was plain, almost austere.

The kitchen was well equipped but not overly decorated built for purpose and it felt strange to do something as mundane as putting together sandwiches knowing the splendour that was only next door; whilst the view from the window was of rolling parkland and no doubt the feast of cold meat, bread and cheese that we were concocting all came from the estate – there was no sign of packages from the supermarket either way.

We sat around the table munching in companionable silence as I gazed out the window, trying to imagine what it would have been like to be bought up in this house. Jim didn't really seem to enjoy it if his behaviour was anything to go by. At least he seemed to take it all for granted in a lazy and indolent way.

"Just gonna' wait for Laney to arrive and then we can have a run through maybe?" Jim suggested, chewing on a piece of gammon. "I've checked out the room and it is all still set up and everything is working, so we can jump straight in." I only half listened to the conversation, not sure what they were talking about enjoying the peace and solitude when it was interrupted by the sound of voices and talking, then the noise of a door shutting and footsteps approaching us on the wooden floor.

"Jim," Alanya spun into the room and I couldn't miss the way her boyfriend's face lit up with the sight of her. Admittedly she did look stunning in knee length boots and tight leggings, her sweater falling to her knees and cinched in with a large belt. It was the casual elegance that I longed for, but didn't think I ever achieved. If I didn't know her to be such a kind person I would have felt the same stab of jealousy that I had on our first meeting. She had wrapped her arms around her boyfriend's neck, kissing him on the head and wrinkling her nose at the smell of smoke that must have been caught in his hair. Even this action was done with beauty.

"How are you Ric, Izzy? Survived Christmas?" She sat down next to Jim, pulling the plate of food in her direction and building a sandwich. For someone so skinny she had a healthy appetite.

"Barely," Ric replied with amusement. "Yourself?"

"Humph," her reply was blocked by the large bite that she had taken and she shrugged as she chewed. "Exhausting," she replied. "I just find people expect you to be, I don't know, perfect in some way because they have seen your photo, so it was as if I committed some major crime if I dared come downstairs in my pyjamas and slob around – which as seven o'clock on Christmas morning having been woken up by my niece was all I wanted to do." She threw an assessing gaze at me, her face saying very clearly that we would talk later.

The boys had fallen back into conversation, talking with passion about music. I sat there watching the differing emotions on their faces, before Jim finally broke the silence.

"Laney my love, would you give Izzy the grand tour? I would ask Hanty, but she is busy getting ready for the party – and I'm not in her best books!" Alanya laughed and nodded.

"She said as much when she answered the door. Okay then, are you guys going down the stables?"

"Yup, some stuff we want to run through." He pushed back from the table and stood up with a stretch before bending over and claiming a deep kiss from Alanya, whilst Ric and I watched in bemused silence. Ric for his part dropped a kiss on my forehead and they moved off, their boots clattering on the stones in the floor.

"What do you think of all this then Izzy?" Alanya asked once we were sure they were out of earshot. "It's quite a surprise isn't it?"

"Amazing!" I replied back with a smile that dropped. "But strange. I would never have guessed that Jim lived in a place like this in a million years; he doesn't behave as if he had this sort of upbringing. And to find out that he is a Lord." I paused. "So if you got married would you be a Lady?"

She nodded with a cross between a smile and a grimace. "Yeah, Lady James McCullough, although you may have noticed that Jim doesn't like using his title, so I wouldn't suggest you start bowing and scraping. He still picks his nose even though he is descended from the peerage." Her comment wrung a laugh out of me although I noticed her face was sober. "He doesn't like it all because he wasn't very happy growing up. His parents are kind, but he is the youngest of four boys and they have the heir and the spare – by the time Jim was born I think they were fed up of boys, wanted a girl instead. He was bought up by a succession of nannies and his brothers mainly I think. They make up for it by giving him a lot materially, but not the attention he craves – probably explains a lot about his behaviour and his flamboyancy."

"Possibly," I considered her statement. "I mean Ric's grandparents clearly don't have a lot, but they give him loads of attention."

"You spent Christmas with him?"

"Yes, he took me up to his grandparents after the party – rather a surprise. A nice surprise," I added, lest she get the wrong impression.

"We did wonder where you had both disappeared to at first, but then that boss of yours said something about you being spirited away by your phantom, so we guessed you had gone somewhere with Ric. So he took you home did he? He must be serious, because he doesn't tend to mix his current life with his home life. Jim has known him for nearly fifteen years and me for only a couple of years less and we have never been invited over – even though I have spoken with his grandparents. So were you introduced as the girlfriend then?" There was a wicked twinkle in Alanya's eye as she looked at me.

"What, well sort of? Richard never said as much but there seemed to be a sort of assumption there. But I don't know Izzy – you claim that he is trying to be more sensitive and he is, he really is. But he still doesn't tell me that he loves me and won't let me say it to him. He never discusses the future, talks about what might be." I sighed. "And yet he bought me up here," I lifted my hands and shrugged, not able to find the words that might express my frustration or provide reasoning. Alanya laughed slightly at my actions.

"That was a totally Ric gesture," she nodded at my hunched shoulders, which I dropped self-consciously, as she pushed the plate away from her. "Well, I have no answers to your quandary I'm afraid. Richard is maddeningly quite on his feelings, so I can't comment; but I can say that his actions are more expressive and demonstrative then I have ever seen." She stood up. "Now, shall we look around this old pile and then we can go and join the boys?"

We left the kitchen and pushed through the large door that marked the division of the servant's quarters from the main house. Alanya wandered up the hall with a nonchalant gait, opening doors and announcing names such as Yellow Room and Back Drawing room.

"It was started in the 1720's and built and adapted throughout the century," she explained as she led me up the grand wooden staircase which was 'Adams' in design. "And this is the piece de resistance," she said, opening the wide double doors and leading me into a massive ballroom. "Built in the 1780s and is an exquisite example of Adam architecture." I felt like a tourist as I stared around the stunning room with the most intricate plasterwork I had ever seen on a ceiling, large oil portraits on the walls and a beautiful silk rug on the floor.

"It's like a museum," I breathed and Alanya smiled at my comment as I turned circles in the centre of the room, not sure what to look at.

"Kinda' amazing isn't it. It is actually where _Cluinn_ played their first concert outside of uni. It was Johnnie's thirtieth birthday," she smiled at the memory. "Even then they drew a lot of attention." She stared around the walls. "Actually we had better go and see what they are up to. Ric seemed to be in an amiable mood and I don't think Jim was too stoned, was he?"

"Stoned?" I stuttered in surprise that she seemed aware that he had been smoking drugs. "Um, err; well..." I sputtered as we made our way downstairs.

"Don't worry about defending him Izzy. Jim has a bit too much of a habit – the trouble of a life of idle bliss don't you know. And a very addictive personality, which is not good with the lifestyle he likes to lead." She sighed. "As long as he sticks to the weed and doesn't smoke too much of it then I don't complain too much. The danger is if he turns to anything heavier, god knows what might happen then." I was amazed by her calm attitude to the situation and didn't quite know what to say, so remained silent as we left the house and walked across the gravel sweep, under a dark grey sky. It had stopped raining, but it was only temporary

"What is here?" I asked as we approached a stable block, half of which seemed to be falling down, obviously not occupied.

"Come and see, "she nodded with her head, opening a door. Once again, my mouth fell open – what seemed to be its customary position since we had arrived at the estate. For there; in the converted stables was a fully functioning music room. There seemed to be a plethora of instruments and sound equipment, the ability for the band to play and record. A huge mixing desk, computers and microphones were all hooked up. Both an acoustic piano and an electric keyboard were amongst the instruments, as well as a full drum kit and several guitars.

Ric and Jim were standing in the middle of all of this, playing back at each other and talking at the same time, their fingers flashing over the struts, the sound softened through the amps, but still a catchy hook. "And then onto the bridge," Ric explained, chasing the rhythm of the music, tapping his foot against the floor, measuring out the beat. I stood in amusement and awe as I watched the song being constructed. "And then the vocals can come in, although I think Izzy's voice would work here." My ears pricked up as he started to sing in a falsetto, as if he were trying to imitate my voice.

"_Seeing the ashes in my heart__  
__The smile the widest__  
__When I cry inside and my insides blow apart__  
__I tried to wear another face__  
__Just to make you proud__  
__Just to make you put me in my place__  
__But everything you wanted from me__  
__Is everything that I could never be_"

"I can do that," I commented breaking the circle of concentration they had surrounded themselves in, smiling as they looked up at me wandering over. "The only questions are when and where?" I locked my gaze with Richard trying to assume a devil may care stance when I was actually boiling over with curiosity. He simply shot it back at me, unfazed with the query.

"Do you want to?" A question answered with a question, typically maddening of him and I temporarily lost my poise.

"If you are composing songs that you need me to sing, don't you think you should ask me first?" The words came out slightly petulant and demanding when I was trying to aim for a teasing, light-hearted tone. I knew what I wanted. We stood there frozen, neither willing to back down, staring at each other, Richard's face a waxwork of stillness.

"The thing is Izzy," Jim interrupted. "Whilst I am sure this blockhead here hasn't mentioned anything, we thought, well given that the last concert went so well, the band were wondering if you wanted to, well would you like to sing with us more? Become a de facto member, so to speak?" He hovered at the edge of my vision, his face creased up with a degree of pleading and out of the corner of my eye I saw Alanya go over and stand next to him, accepting his arm around her waist. However all my attention was taken up with Ric, who still had not moved or spoken to confirm the offer.

"Richard?" The question and warning I had made of his name was clearly evident and he flinched slightly but didn't reply, although his stare did drop to the floor. "Okay, if that is the way you want to play it," I said calmly and turned on my heel, walking out the door. Outside the promised rain had started to fall, big fat heavy drops of icy water fell outside. I shivered and pulled my blazer closer around me, hoping that he wasn't going to call my bluff.

"Isabella," the soft tones came after only a handful of seconds standing under the eaves. I turned and looked at him leaning out of the door. "Come inside, it freezing." I raised my eyebrows and waited. "Please," he added with a note of humour in his voice. "Please come inside and we can talk." I sighed and wordlessly turned and walked in straight into his chest as he was standing slap bang in the doorway.

"Why does it always have to come to this?" I asked in frustration, angry that the kind loving man I had begun to know over Christmas had disappeared once his friends were back on the scene. "Why can't you just be straight with me for once in your bloody life, rather then let me find things out third hand?" I punched him in the stomach in my frustration, but he didn't move, just continued to look at me with a fathomless gaze.

"Come here," he finally commented gruffly, wrapping an arm round me and pulling me into a little kitchenette that was off the main room. "I didn't say anything because I wanted to talk to the other guys first!" His voice was quiet but forceful as he placed his hands on my shoulders and pulled me into his chest. "I didn't want to say anything before everyone agreed, Jim just jumped in!" Anger was in his tone.

"So why didn't you say anything just now?"

"Because you were just so amazing to watch and I wanted Jim to make the offer, let it come from him. Izzy, you know that I am constantly questioning my position in the band, if _Cluinn_ should even still exist! How can I then go and say, 'right my girlfriend should be a member and sing with us, but only if I decide I want to keep the group together'. Understand?"

I could hear the slightly desperate note in his voice, but smiled despite it. "Girlfriend?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Aye, would you rather I called you something else?"

"No, no, not at all." I shook my head and flattened my hands against his chest, leaning my head against it and hearing the rhythmic thump of his heart under my ear. "It's just that is the first time you have referred to me as such. Never before, not to the band, Alanya, your Grandparents and I was just beginning to wonder..."

"I wasn't sure you wanted to be, at least not until I saw how well you got on with my grandparents." He shrugged, his muscles stretching and bunching under my touch. "As long as you are happy with it?"

"Totally. I don't think I can let you move back into the spare bedroom. Abstinence didn't sit well with me – I've missed you at night." He smiled and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me tightly to him.

"Snap. Now, do you want to go and practice this song or not 'cause there is another bombshell that needs to drop and I am damned if Jim is going to let the cat out of the bag on this one as well!" He led me back to the main room, where the other two were sitting on a sofa, talking quietly. Jim jumped up at the sight of me.

"Izzy, sweets – totally sorry," he started to apologise, but Ric held up a hand, waving it through the air as if to shush him.

"Before you open you big mouth without engaging your brain again McCullough, do you want to let Izzy in on the real news?"

"Oh, what you haven't told her that either?" Jim's face was a picture of amused resignation. "Shit Ric, you are just one bundle of secrets. Okay, we have an agent, there you go. We are going kosher have signed a contract with an agent, recording a proper album and releasing it – hopefully with your beautiful voice included."

"What?" My head whipped between the three faces in front of me, the enthusiasm on Jim's, the smile on Alanya's and the grim line that was Richard's mouth.

"When did this all happen? How? You have hardly had a second free between you and besides I thought you weren't into all that?" I was seriously confused. It seemed to be a huge u-turn, especially in Jim's opinion.

"I had a meeting with Eric St. John, after we did that supporting gig at Brixton and he convinced me, said that there was real talent there, he was sure we could get a recording contract and that he knew someone, but we needed an agent. It all made sense because we are at the right moment now. Having an agent earlier would have just been throwing money away, but now we are beginning to be known; to achieve something!"

"Okay, so who is Eric St. John and why is he so pivotal in this new outlook?" I shook my head, as if the fog of confusion would clear and be replaced with crystal clear understanding.

"He used to be a major A&R man Izzy," Ric rejoined, his voice gruff, hiding his emotions. "Had a label called Gin Sounds that had a reputation for picking up the best fresh new talent and launching them. But he got bought out and isn't in the industry anymore."

"So why does his view count so much then?"

"Because, he has real talent in spotting people, understanding trends and all," Jim cut in enthusiastically. "If St. John says this band will be huge then they do, if he thinks they aren't worth it then they usually sink without trace. And even though he doesn't directly work in the business anymore I have it on authority that he still tips off friends who do work in the industry and two Brit winners from last year were picked by him! It would be stupid to ignore such advice, especially when he hunted us out. A real no-brainer!"

My head whirred with this information and I sunk down onto the sofa next to Alanya, squinting at the two men in front of me who wore expressions the exact opposite of each other. Jim was a picture of excitement and enthusiasm, Richard's face shuttered, closed up and with anger brewing in the depths. "Surely to release a proper album gives you a chance of success, of achieving notoriety and fame. Then it would not just be the odd evening and weekends that you would be busy?"

"Yup!" The excitement in Jim's voice was like a child on Christmas Day, bubbling over.

"But I have a job, not one I am willing to give up, so you would have to count me out of any future plans. Not that I am assuming you want me to record with you." I address this question to Jim, but it was Ric I was starring at.

"And I am going my masters," he said firmly. "I want to finish my degree first and if I achieve anything less then a two: one; I am placing the blame firmly at the door of Lord McCullough here as it is his master plan."

"Don't call me that," the titled man spat back at him, the first time I had seen him angry. "You are just trying to make it sound as if I am pivotal in all of this because, in your usual way you are giving yourself a get out clause. If it all blows up in your face then you can just shrug your shoulders and walk away as always. Change your attitude Stewart, or we can find a new lead singer to go on this journey with us!"

Alanya and I exchanged worried filled glances. A certain amount of vicious bantering was normal between the two friends, but this seemed to be escalating into an argument. I bit my lip and focused back on the melodrama unfolding in front of us.

"Fine," Richard said, shrugging his shoulders which seemed to rile his friend as much as it usually did me.

"Fuck off then. If that is your attitude, just walk out and leave, we don't need you and your arsy negative outlook. Just leave your guitar by the door."

"If that's what you want. I'll take my music though." This had started to escalate and I bit my lip, wondering if I should intervene. But I was a moment too long in my hesitation.

"You stupid boys," Alanya jumped to her feet, grabbing Jim's arm with one perfectly manicured hand, before reaching out for Richard who stood a short distance away. "For heaven's sake, you sound like little boys arguing over the last sweet. This isn't anything so minor!" Her voice shook with anger. "Either you don't do this, or you put one hundred percent behind it; all four of you - otherwise there is no point. We all damn well know that there are vast amounts of hard graft and soul bearing; as well as luck; between this moment and even the slightest chance of any fame. So either you stop it right here and now, or you agree to put your differences behind you and go on this journey together." Her chest heaved with anger, whilst her eyes flashed as she glared at Richard. He in turn gulped the movement trembling through him; his eyes fixed on Alanya with compassion and sorrow, rather then the anger that was in them earlier. Almost painfully slowly he reached out and took her hand, letting himself be pulled forward and embracing her. "And you call your best friend a blockhead," she spoke, returning the hug, before wiggling out of it and pushing Jim into her place.

The two boys embraced each other, in that manly sort of way, before parting. "I meant want I said about my degree though," Richard warned him fiercely, the visible part of his face matching the glowering mask.

"Fine, you really think anything will happen before May all considered. We might be lucky to have two songs down tops. Besides you are the clever one; if you can walk this degree like you did your last, no problems!" He laughed and Ric snorted, a smile spreading onto his face.

"I can dream." He focused his attention back towards me. "I guess as we are gonna' be famous I better get to work whilst I have a few minutes spare. Come on Izzy; let's try this song from the top." And he pulled me to my feet and into something I had never dared dream of.


	24. Chapter 24

**Believe it or not I do have a plan for this story and it might not be what you expect so please stick with it and don't forget to review! Pips**

Chapter Twenty-Four

If I thought the autumn had been depressing the dark grey month of January was almost my undoing. Arriving home after New Year to a cold dark flat, devoid of any of the warmth that I had experienced over Christmas would have been enough to send me running for my bed never to emerge. Thankfully I now shared my place of repose with a companion and his presence was enough to keep me from spiralling into the doldrums.

Immediately that we returned, Richard was thrust into the last term of his course; the deadline for his thesis looming closer with every grey, rain filled day. At times it felt as if I never saw him as he left the flat before me and would sometimes only return after I had given up and gone to bed. The library at the college was open twenty-four hours a day and at times it felt as if he were there for days at a time. It was only a vague notion of someone sliding into bed next to me and his clothes in a pile on the bedroom floor that let me know he spent a few hours with me every night.

The cool of winter was felt at work as well. Even though I had left the offices on a high, in my absence over the holidays I had once again fallen through the ranks of popularity. Fiona was cool, bordering on disinterested. Despite cheerfully greeting her on my first day back; she kept has distance and did not speak to me; even going as far as to communicate her wishes through other people in the office, rather then speak to me directly.

I felt rudderless and adrift in this strange world of semi-light and cold. The positive streak I had been riding had dropped off without warning and I did not know where to turn. The Izzy of old would have turned and run, changed jobs; changed situations. But I was not that person anymore. Knowing that there was someone who loved me did wonders – even if I never bloody got to be with him!

Finally; as January trailed off, after what seemed more then its fair share of days and February was upon us; did things start to ease up infinitesimally. I came home from work to find my boyfriend stretched out full length on the sofa. His trainers lay in a discarded heap on the floor, his head was propped up on a cushion and his feet dangled over the other arm; the sinewy length of his body too great to be contained on the cushions of the couch. His mask was discarded on the coffee table and a book was open on his lap. The only thing was that he was not reading it, but instead was fast asleep, soft breathing coming from his chest.

I hadn't seem him at all last night and wondered if he had even come home; it was hard to tell when he left so early; but here he was in all his glory – even if he was asleep. I couldn't resist it and wandered over; smoothing a hand over his forehead and dropping a kiss, watching him smile slightly in his sleep but not wake up. Instead, he shifted position slightly and a snore emerged.

It was a wry smile that graced my face. Great, I got my man home and he was snoring on the sofa. Not loving, not giving – not anything really. But at least he was there and I was not left to wander around on my own, imagining. Being alone was the cruellest position and I had spent far too much of my life in such a way that I now abhorred the idea. Therefore even asleep, I was glad Ric was with me.

The buzzer to the door sounded and I frowned, tempted not to answer it, for I reasoned that more then likely it was Jim and Alanya, maybe Angus and Sandy. More often then not the flat had become a meeting place- not only as the home of the lead singer; but also having the largest living space available. My living room that use to echo with the solo footsteps now often had six of us crammed into it's four walls.

"'lo' I answered the phone, expecting to hear the Scottish burr back, nearly dropping the handset in surprise when a very cultured English voice replied.

"Hello Isabella, it's Nigel. May I come up and see you?"

"Uh?" My mind temporarily went blank and I was unable to find rational words as my brain refused to engage with my mouth; leaving me doing a very good impression of a goldfish; before I finally found rational speech again.

"Yes, um please come up," I said, unsure what else I could do. I pressed the button and then whirred around, realising that Ric was asleep on the sofa, not good; without his mask; really not good at all. I didn't want to leave him in such a vulnerable position and being shorter and lighter then him; carrying his sleeping form anywhere was out of the question. "Ric," I shook him hard and was rewarded with a sleepy ugh and his eyes opening; staring blankly up at me.

"Hey Iz," he said smiling dopily, before catching my agitation. "What's up?"

"My ex-," I hesitated. "An old friend had dropped by unexpectedly and is about to knock on the door and I didn't want you to, well..." I gestured helplessly to his face and he caught on to my meaning.

"Oh, okay Iz, sure." He yawned deeply and swung his legs off the couch, sitting down and scratching his stomach with the indolence of someone who was newly woken. I stood there buzzing with nervous energy, not wanting Nigel to meet Richard; my new life to clash with my old. Thankfully the knock on my door spurred Richard into action and he levered himself up off the couch as the planks were rapped, book in his hand; scooped his mask up with the other and wandered off to the bedroom; shutting the door behind him.

Another knock sounded on the door and I was sure that Nigel thought I was stalling – which was sort of true. I scooped up Ric's tatty Converse; nose wrinkled at the smell and shoved them into the basket of magazines by the chair as I went over to the door, flinging it open; a smile born of panic and desperation on my face, which fell as I looked over the man on the other side of the threshold.

Old, was my first thought as I look at him. Old and grey, came as a second idea. I had become used to the youthful energy of Richard; his irrepressible mannerisms, the boundless energy that seemed to pour off him as he moved around the place. Even when he sat still reading or studying, his foot or hand often twitched with a beat in his head or he softly murmured under his breath. He never walked anywhere slowly, but seemed to almost bounce along; his stride being greater then most.

In direct contrast the life force of Nigel seemed dampened down and I imagined that I could feel the coldness of his negative energy creep out and settle over me. His suit was cleanly cut; his hair brushed to perfection, although with a careful comb over the noticeable bald patch on top of his head. His head was only slightly above mine, so that my eyes were almost level with his and as I stood there drinking in this sombre picture he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry Nigel," I recovered my lost manners. "Please come in." I stood and let him pass me, walking into the main room where he sat down on the very couch that my boyfriend had vacated only seconds before. It was probably still warm with his latent body heat. I went to sit down opposite, but before I had even sat down for a second; jumped up again. "Would you like a drink?" the question came out with as much brightness as I could muster.

"Isabelle," he said looking at me in such a way that I stopped and returned the stare, eyebrows lowered, feeling vulnerable. Whilst his manner wasn't threatening (impossible given his short stature and small frame) I felt uncomfortable. "Isabelle, sit down and let's talk, it has been so long since we've seen each other and we did say six months."

"Six months?" I didn't have the slightest idea what he was talking about, until my memory decided to make reappearance and flashes from our last meeting filled my mind. I had just returned from the dreaded night at Richard's old house, my dignity in tatters; my body abused with a hellish hangover and he had decided to come and lecture me. I had been so full of self pity that day I had not taken what he had said on board, simply shutting a door on that part of my life and instead concentrated on my relationship with Richard. The same man, who, I sent up a quiet prayer, was hopefully fast asleep on the bed at the moment.

"You know, be apart for six months and see where it has taken us, see if we still have a spark after some time apart," he said with a manner of forced joviality.

"Oh, yes," I replied brightly and untruthfully. "And I take it that you have been thinking of me?" I ended my statement as a question, hoping it was in the negative.

"Do you know Isabelle," he paused and I shifted in my seat, frowning as I realised I hated the way he called me Isabelle. It wasn't my name and yet it was he assumed I did not mind.

"Don't call me that," I said tartly. "You can call me Izzy, like everyone else does, or Isabella, which is my christened name if you must," I added as I saw his face fall slightly.

"I'm sorry, Isa-bella," he said, hyphenating the word as if he had to make a concerted effort to get the ending right. He shook his head slightly, surprise in his gaze as he looked at me again. I suppose he wasn't used to me asserting my feelings. "As I was saying, I thought that I had put you out of my mind until just before Christmas. And then some chap in the office was waxing lyrical about a concert he had been too and had posted a video on that yourtube."

"You tube," I corrected him with a frown; wondering what he was going to say.

"Yes, that's right; You Tube. Anyway, everyone kept saying it was such a good concert that I had to watch it and imagine my surprise when I saw you there, singing. I didn't know you could sing Isabella?"

"I'm on you tube?" My voice came out faint.

"Yes. I found myself hooked with watching it. You had such vivacity Isabella, such grace and I found myself quite stunned that I knew who you were!" He paused. "Or thought I knew who you were." His voice went soft and my face fell at the intimate tone he used.

"Well," I sad brightly, full of false bohemia and cheer that in a few more minutes would have had me slapping my leg and making proclamations of good cheer. "Isn't it nice to be surprised sometimes in life? I am sure that you have things that you kept in the dark from me. Anyway," I stood up hoping that I would be able to hustle him out the door and out of my life once more, but instead he sat there, a wistful look upon his face.

"I just find I can't get the image of you out of my mind," he spoke softly as much to himself as to me. "It was such an amazing sight!" My eyes widened at his words and panic started to shake though my veins. I didn't want him here, had forgotten all about him if I was being truthful.

"Well you know that um, it was simply an image and a lot of talented people worked very hard to transform me into that – like those makeover shows on television. So, it wasn't really me, more an image of someone who sort of knew me."

"Your voice though Isabella, I didn't know you could sing like that – such passion in your voice. You could sing opera with a voice like that!" I sighed and sat down again, although alert to any opportunity that might relieve me from this torture. However I was on more familiar ground – Nick trying to talk things up to his usual superior posing level. He saw me briefly singing on the internet and then wanted to drag me up to his level of opera; which I found immensely boring having been forced to sit through more then my fair share when I had been his shy, retiring girlfriend.

"Well I can't sing opera. You know Nick it wasn't actually me singing, totally faked and put on for show – just a joke. Please don't think that I am anymore exciting then you knew me before." I was gabbling; desperate to prevent the conversation from going any further. I shot a desperate glance in the direction of the hallway, hoping that Ric might emerge from the bedroom and rescue me; however slim the chance.

"You faked it? Why did you fake it then Isabella? Why did you pretend to sing with that strange man if it wasn't really you?" Nick sounded as if he were about to start sobbing with bewilderment and I jumped up from my perch again as if I had been stung. I really, really couldn't handle this.

"Nicholas, please I have to ask you to leave. It was kind of you to come and visit, but I've moved on – sorry; there just isn't any possibility of getting back together again. You were simply taken with a clever image – it was just a ..." I wildly thought for a reason. "A PR drive. Totally fake; which is why they dubbed me."

"You're right," he sighed melodramatically. "I thought I knew you Isabella, but I guess I don't. The girl I knew wouldn't have faked singing, wouldn't have _cheated_ so much." He sneered the word as if I had done something criminal. Obviously my false confession was more then he could stand. I felt a moment of guilt brush against my conscience, but I knew that to offer him an olive branch could invite misinterpretation. Instead I stood there ready to physically push him out of the door if need arose.

"Goodbye Isabella. This time it really is goodbye." He held up a hand as if giving me benediction rather then a farewell. "I wish you the best of luck in life, although your chosen path does give me reason for concern – however if you are happy..." And with those cryptic words he walked past me and left, leaving me staring at the door he had shut behind him; whilst a frown creased my forehead. It was only a few minutes later that Ric strolled out the bedroom, his mask absent and his glasses on.

"Who was that?" he asked looking in the direction of my gaze that focused at the front door as if the answer was written on the wood. I turned and faced him, annoyed that he had chosen to delay his appearance when I could have used his help in removing my unwanted visitor. However one glance at his crumpled t-shirt, messed hair and holey socks with his twisted cheek on view; I felt a rush a love that expelled any annoyance.

"Nicholas, who was an ex-boyfriend of sorts." I admitted biting my lip. I really didn't want Richard to know that I had dated this man for he might reconsider what sort of person I really was, someone who was willing to be seen with a partner who was so grey and boring. However at my confession he simply snorted and shook his head, before he collapsed onto the sofa and resumed a position not that dissimilar to the one I had found him in earlier; letting out a huge yawn as he stretched out his long legs.

"You got anything planned for supper?" he finally asked, leaning his head back so he could see me; abate upside down.

"No. I had no idea you would be here and even if I did you were asleep and then Nicholas decided to turn up; so it is now past eight and unless you want to lick a frozen chicken leg – no. The domestic goddess has failed." My ire rose, almost out of habit and from general stress and worry.

"Izzy." My name slid off his lips like liquid and he beckoned to me with his graceful fingers, pulling me down onto the couch with him when I acquiesced and went over. "I didn't mean it like that." He put his hand to my mouth and kissed my fingers. "I simply didn't want to suggest anything if you had made plans; not insinuate that you should come home and start cooking." He smiled and pushed himself upright, sneaked a hand around the back of my neck and exerted enough pressure to make me fall forward and against his mouth. The kissing lasted long enough to wipe away my annoyance.

"Shall we go out for a pizza then?" I said when I finally had a chance to sit up again and gather my thoughts. He shook his head.

"I fell asleep with my contacts in and my eyes have dried out." He put his hand under his spectacle frames and rubbed at them. "Gotta' wear my glasses for the rest of the evening or I will end up with an eye infection. Shall we just order carry out?"

"You mean you are here for the whole evening? You don't have to dash off somewhere or study some more or save the world or write some music?" I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice. He nodded and grinned at my display of enthusiasm.

"The whole evening, at least until the spell finishes and I change back into a pumpkin at midnight. I need an evening off Izzy, been burning the candle at both ends and I don't think I am able to do anymore, even if people are demanding it." He smiled wanly and I realised just how tired he was for he must have been clocking at least four hours less sleep a night then me and I was pretty shattered.

I could not deny his simple request and so half an hour later we were sitting at the table surrounded by our choice of curry, tucking into the dishes with the enthusiasm of the hungry who were indulging themselves. We ate in silence, our comments limited to the food and the pleasure we received from it, enjoying the meal too much to distract ourselves with small talk. That was for later.

"Have you nearly finished your dissertation then?" I asked when we had finished eating, stacked the dishwasher and opened a bottle of wine, collapsing on the sofa, his arm around me, a banal programme on the television that neither of us was really watching.

"Finished?" He gave a short laugh. "I wish Izzy! I have until the end of August to get it in and they have only just approved my topic." He shifted slightly and I was so attuned to his moods that I realised it was a deeper issue – as it usually was with him. "I wanted to research the affect of children forcibly put into care – like Cameron; but it was considered high risk and the powers that be weren't too keen. As a result it was batted around the department for ages and then they told me to tone it down – more theoretical rather then going into foster families and interviewing kids."

"I can understand that. If the children are traumatised then it might be a bit much to have them sitting there being asked a list of questions." He snorted at my comment.

"Wouldn't be done quite like that, but yeah it's not the easiest research to carry out. So now it has changed to perceived trauma in children who have witnessed violence within the home. Barrel of laughs I can tell you!" He shrugged. "It is nice to have the music to fall back on when it all becomes too much; too intense and I have been doing almost as much composing as I have research these past few weeks. The exam is early May and then in July we have to present our research findings and the dissertation is due in end of August – except I think I am going to have to get mine in earlier, hence the reason for the push now."

"Why earlier? Wouldn't it make sense to wait?" I leant forward and refilled both our wine glasses, vaguely aware that this was the most we had both drunk in a long time, however I didn't wish to finish this conversation as I enjoyed reconnecting with Richard. What drove him was so complex, that at most times even I could only catch a glimpse of the person he could be, so multi-facetted was his very being.

"Oh shit," A long yawn escaped his mouth and he stretched, obviously fighting the desire to sleep again. "Sorry Iz, I am behaving like a Neanderthal. Blame it on tiredness please. I actually fell asleep in lectures today!"

"Why are you letting yourself get so tired? Did you even come home last night or did you spend the whole night in the library?"

"No, at the recording studios actually," he laughed; except I had gone rigid beside him and my eyes were filled with suspicion.

"You are recording at the moment? You are supposed to be studying and working to you Masters and you are messing around recording?" The look he shot back at me was sheepish and I immediately felt contrite. It wasn't my place to lecture him on his work and life balance – or in his case his work and work balance."

"I told you at Jims that we had an agent and all that," he stifled another yawn. "We now have been signed to a record label and are recording our first album, our first proper one anyway and it is going okay, actually have two whole songs down and they are being edited." His arm tightened around my shoulders as he drew me in closer and planted a kiss on my forehead, his voice soft and husky with the tiredness. "Every night all theway to the studios, I ask myself what am I doing; but then when I get there and we start playing and singing I just know that it is right. I go as a person wanting to be a lawyer and I leave as a member of a band who wants to perform. It's starting to screw me up Izzy – big time as I am not sure what I want to do and who I want to be!"

"And you are finding that being both is too much," I observed looking into his bloodshot eyes.

"It's killing me," he deadpanned back and it is only going to get worse. Raising his wine glass he took a large swig of wine and leant his head back against the sofa with a groan that became a laugh. "Jim wants this and he usually gets what he wants – always has and cannot see any reason to change now. Everyone else can just eat it or fall in line, which sucks really. Anyway our label manager, chap called Devlin Summers; has grabbed onto his enthusiasm with both hands and has booked us up to tour all throughout the summer festivals. But, with the deadlines for coursework as I said, it looks like I am going to be on the road and studying at the same time – hence trying to get as much groundwork in as possible now."

I studied him with a wry twist to my mouth. "And I doubt you've let your lecturers know? They wouldn't approve would they?" He shook his head.

"Life does not exist outside the course and it's related subject matter. All a bit institutionalised. They are the sort of people who listen to Radio 4 only."

"Not really Cluinn's style is it. What festivals are you booked to perform at then?"

"Um, One big weekend, I think and then Isle of Wight, Glastonbury and T in the Park obviously. And I think Reading& Leeds; but I'm not sure. And of course every chat show, chart show and envelope opening that we can get invited to. Basically I am at the mercy of an agent and the whim of the great British Public for the whole of the summer." He gave a week smile. "And before you get too excited about the festivals, we are in the new acts tents, or upcoming performers' area. We will be lucky to even have our name mentioned on radio; let alone see us on the telly." My face fell, even though I had been unaware that I had shown excitement.

"But I will be able to come and support you; won't I? Alanya will be there for Jim and I want to be there for you," I gripped his hand, impassioned with the thought of not seeing him for months on end, suddenly aware of the impact the decision to push for the big time might mean to our relationship and to me. At the moment, whilst I hadn't seem him, at least I knew that he was around – the flat vibrated with his presence and I tripped over his belongings. If he were on the road, then it would just be me, alone again, within these four walls.

"Izzy, if you want to come and see you can! Devlin saw the video of the concert at Park Lane and he was really impressed, wanted to know if you were part of the band. He has mentioned recording 'Broken' as an album special, so if you wished to pop up and perform it at the odd concert, it would probably go down very well. That is," he echoed by smile of earlier, "if you can manage without being dubbed!"

"Dubbed! I sung every single note..." I paused before I became too worked up and realised he was quoting from earlier. "You heard that?" He nodded and laughed slightly.

"Interesting way of getting rid of someone, I must say. He did seem like a slightly strange man though. Where did you find him?"

"Covent Garden again," I confirmed. "I seem to be in the habit of picking up strange men there don't I? Anyway, enough of Nick, he can go and mourn the fact that I cannot sing and allow myself the horror of being dubbed – or not. The thing is, except for in the shower, I have not sung a note since we've been at Jim's – I really don't know if I am up to it anymore. Need to keep practicing." I glanced at him, under my eyelashes, hoping he would get the hint. He let out a big sigh.

"Right now?" He heaved a sigh and got up from the sofa as I nodded. "Just gonna' get my guitar." He wandered off in the direction of our shared bedroom, where I knew the instrument rested against the chair, curling my legs up under me on the sofa and aimlessly watching the programme. Five minutes went by and then ten and with a frown I followed in Richard's footsteps and went into the bedroom.

He lay on the bed, face down and his head to one side. Glasses pushed off his face and one foot dangling over the edge of the bed, fast asleep. I smiled and gently picked up the glasses and put them next to his side of the bed. It would seem the conversation about our future would have to wait.


	25. Chapter 25

**Thank you for all your comments last chapter. Things are starting to happen so please stick with this story and please review! Pips**

Chapter Twenty-Five

Glaciation had started again in the FF offices. The atmosphere was positively chilly and I was in the pathway of the moving ice or in this case my boss. I cannot say what it was that I had done, my behaviour had not changed and if anything I worked even harder, spurred on by her manner and the fact there was little to go home to.

I was once again alone, Richard absent from my life, torn apart by the demands of his degree versus the choices he had made about his life and his music. He attempted with almost superhuman effort and will to do both, but three months of too little sleep, far too much work and no time to relax had left him drained, exhausted and emaciated. Concerned tutors and work colleagues persuaded him to take time off and I forced him to go back home to his grandparents and receive some much needed care, the sort I was unable to supply.

In a strange sort of way I was glad to see the back of him, thankful for three weeks apart as he had become very difficult to live with. Constantly jittery from the vast amounts of caffeine he was drinking to keep himself awake, his nerves stretched to a fine string that snapped at the slightest pressure; it was difficult to keep on his good side and our rows had been almost a daily occurrence and on occasions quite vicious in the exchange of words, when I was unable to take the necessary step back from his baiting and sarcasm and stay in an objective frame of mind. More then once I had been the first in the office, red eyes hidden behind sunglasses after a sleepless night. When we argued he would always storm off, usually to the library to study; occasionally to the spare bedroom to sleep. Either way it hadn't made for a peaceful month.

But now with the daffodils in full bloom; the days starting to stretch out so it was no longer dark at four, but only fading into dusk at seven and Easter only around the corner, I found myself missing him dreadfully. Our lives had become entangled in such a way that in his absence; some of my life vanished as well. Although Alanya was now a close enough friend that we spoke to each other without the men there; she still did not fulfil the role of a close confidante. My dearest Mags was on tour with her latest project, and so I had not seen her for month on end, bar a couple of grabbed hours over coffee before she left.

I felt trapped between two worlds. No longer Isabella, the nice PR girl, my old life where I would drink and flirt and not worry about the way of the world; I was unable to be the partner; both sexually and musically to the man in my life. Instead I felt very stuck and rather alone.

Fiona's behaviour was therefore not well timed. In a more positive frame of mind I could have probably ignored her and carried on working, but as her coolness hardened into hostility and her nitpicking grew into bullying I knew that I needed to start looking for a job elsewhere. I could not understand a reason for her behaviour, unless as Richard had said she was jealous of my relationship.

I stood there in the office kitchenette, making a cup of tea, chatting aimlessly with Rachel as she sashayed in, her smile alarmingly welcoming as she glanced over at us. "Izzy, word on the grapevine is that your boyfriend and his band are releasing an album. Isn't that true?" The question was asked in a typical Fiona way, stating a fact and forcing you to deny it only if you dared. I hesitated before answering.

"How did you hear about that?"

Her tinkling laugh had all the warmth of nails on ice and she flashed me a smile that resembled a lion about to eat its lunch. "Oh Izzy, Peter and I know all the gossip – after all one should be ahead in this game. I am rather disappointed that you didn't tell me. Peter and I are planning to pitch for their PR; the label is looking for someone so I hear." I felt my heart drop out of me, suddenly aware of how well she had cornered me and was now playing with her food before going in for the kill. "I have some wonderful ideas for promotion; especially with Richard."

I bit my lips so hard that the metallic taste of blood welled up in my mouth. The snake of a woman had all but admitted that she wanted my boyfriend, planned to lure him into bed as part of the bargain no doubt. "Well, I suggest that you stay in touch with their agent then, I am not involved in all that," I tried to stay calm and mature – quite difficult when my urge was to shout and hit my boss over the head with a blunt object.

"I actually spoke to Richard directly, the other day. Didn't he mention it?" Her voice went up a pitch in faked surprise. "He was quite receptive really. Said we had to meet and talk about it further." I was quaking with anger at her comments, desperately trying to resist the urge to confront her and rise to the baiting. I took a step forward and became aware that Rachel was desperately clinging to my waist, refusing to let me go. Fiona, realising her work was done smiled again and left the room, forgetting the bottle of water she had been pretending to get.

"Don't listen to her," Rachel warned me in a low tone. "Go now, get your bag and go out - I will meet you outside in five minutes. I followed her instructions and stood outside the building, tears streaming down my face by the time my colleague had followed me down.

"Oh shit Rach," I said as she approached, wordlessly giving me a hug, full of genuine affection and I had a moment of clarity, realising that we were actually quite good friends.

"She is out for you blood Izzy," Rachel warned as we linked arms and strolled down into Covent Garden. "I think she has been ever since she met Richard. You never noticed, but if he came to pick you up for your singing lessons she was like a schoolgirl with a crush. And you didn't hear the venom she spat when she realised you had wiggled off with him after the party!"

"But Ric said that he had agreed that with her. I didn't ask for him to take me off – well I did, but not for the whole of Christmas!" The hand I raised to my mouth trembled as I realised what a problem I was in.

"I am sure she agreed to whatever he requested Izzy," Rachel commented, handing me a tissue as my nose was running. "But she is so two faced. I hate to say it, but you really are in a dangerous spot and it is not your fault, yet I would still look at getting out before it all crumbles away and you are fired."

"Do you really think it would come to that Rachel?" I felt myself sway with worry. "I haven't done anything wrong – what could they fire me for?"

"I don't know, just be careful Izzy and start looking. In fact, it's marketing and promotions jobs in the Guardian today, so let's grab a copy and see what is out there." I know she was trying to be helpful and positive, but as we sat at a table, coffees cooling in front of her and she read out a list of potential jobs for me, I felt my enthusiasm wane. My job, like my love life which had both been riding high had come crashing down monumentally. So bloody typical of my life.

I didn't go into work the next day; I couldn't face another confrontation – especially without the hard facts to use as a shield. I didn't doubt that Fiona had spoken with Richard, but what I could not fathom was if he had accepted her offer, both the spoken and unspoken. Instead with the pathetic excuse of a cold I took a sick day off and slouched on the sofa with my laptop, ostensibly job hunting whilst daytime television provided a noisy companion.

There were plenty of jobs that I could apply for, as the main experience I had received at Farrow and Faith had been the promotion from an account executive through the ranks to account director. I had responsibility for several key businesses and as far as I was aware, they were happy with the work I did for them. No one had implied otherwise.

Therefore as I updated my CV, making sure to drop the less desirable career choices (short order cook definitely) and highlight the achievements made in my new career, I felt a surge of positive energy flood through my body. I knew I was more then capable and it was the right moment to move on, only this time it was looking forward; not running away. My affirmative belief lasted all the way to the point that I wrote down hobbies, my fingers automatically typing music and singing, before I paused over the keys. Would it be safe to say that this was a hobby or was it the ability to be with an absent boyfriend?

I was saved from answering my difficult question by my phone ringing and I answered the private number, attempting to sound off colour in case it was anyone from the office checking up on me. "Hello," the right degree of croak in my voice. "Isabella Saunders speaking."

"Oh, um Isabella, are you okay?" the concerned voice answered back. "You don't sound too great!"

"Slight cold," I answered back, the unasked question in my pitched voice.

"It's Ralph. Ralph Cheyne. I, is this a good time to talk?" A good time to talk? I muted the television and focused my attention back on the conversation. Apart from an e-mail in early January, apologising for my disappearing act, I had not had any contact with Ralph, too involved with my masked boyfriend.

"Um, yeah. I am just feeling sorry for myself that is all. How can I help?"

"I've been meaning to call you for weeks on end and I am sorry that it has taken so long, just been tidying things up after Christmas. I just wanted to discuss some of the feedback from your party and a few other things and wondered if you could come over for a meeting?" He trailed off and I frowned at the silence, not sure what we could have to discuss. As far as I was aware the whole party had been signed, sealed and paid. Fiona was already thinking about the next one and how to top it.

"Well, I am not in the office today, so I would have to check with Fiona and..."

"Actually, I just wanted to speak to you. Only you," he said firmly. "I must admit that is why I called – they said in your office you were off sick."

"Oh, I see!" Actually I did, there clearly was an ulterior motive to this meeting, I just didn't know what it was. However given my current position I could either grab the opportunity with both hands or continue to hide. "Well, I am not that sick, so I am sure we could meet up today without infecting you. When did you have planned?"

"Why not come over for lunch and we can... talk?" If ever they was a loaded word it was that one, but I found myself agreeing, not sure what it could be that he wanted to discuss. Yet I still dressed with care, the weather warm enough to wear my new L K Bennett wedges with a simple cotton shift dress. Freshly washed hair was left to fly loose, pinned back only with sunglasses. I had a feeling Ralph would appreciate the effort that went into my casual chic.

The look that raked me up and down and the accompanying smile as I walked into the hotel lobby was enough to give me a lift. Looking great made me feel great and it was something that tended to be missing with Richard. Whilst I know that he appreciated what I wore as an overall part of my being, any comments on individual outfits were exceedingly rare. And yet his innate sense of style was reflected in his stage costumes and how he presented himself. In my current mood, needing affirmation; I preferred the more obvious looks that Ralph appreciatively passed over my appearance.

"Mr Cheyne, Ralph," I corrected myself when he indicated otherwise, not that surprised when he bent and kissed my cheek. "It's nice to see you again."

"And you too Isabella, still looking quite fantastic." I blushed at the comment and simpered slightly, couldn't help for after all I was still a warm blooded female.

"Please call me Izzy." I shrugged, aiming to match his light informal tone as he offered me his arm and we wandered into the lounge where several meetings were taking place, people taking light lunches and a civilised buzz of activity ran throughout. We seated ourselves in a corner, a waiter appearing almost instantly and I relaxed in the plush surroundings. It was sometimes nice to be able to appreciate the finer things in life.

"I am so sorry for the cloak and dagger approach," Ralph said as we sipped our drinks, casting me a warm smile full of brilliant white teeth that matched his preppy good looks. "It is just that I wanted to talk to you again and wasn't sure how things stood."

"Stood?" I frowned, wondering exactly what he was talking about.

"I acted like such a boorish idiot when I last saw you," his cheeks stained slightly as he blushed, quite a becoming sight to see such a perfect man loose control, however slight. "And of course I owe you an apology – rather got carried away."

"That's fine," I laughed slightly, the sound having a nervous ring to it. Surely he had not created a meeting purely to apologise. After all his behaviour towards me had not been indecent, in any way; simply over enthusiastic. My confusion must have shown for he plunged on.

"The real reason I wanted to talk and face to face; rather then over the phone was, um..." He paused and matched my slight laugh, obviously uncomfortable with whatever he was trying to say. "The thing is Isabella, Izzy; when we first saw each other; we both felt we recognised the other. On subsequent occasions, the feeling has only become stronger; which led me to doing a bit of shall we say; digging. I hope you don't mind but I showed a clip of the concert to my parents, wondering if maybe they knew you as I couldn't pinpoint any occasion where our paths might have previously crossed." I bit back a smile.

"My Father used to work with yours, we grew up together," I concluded for him; realising that he was finding it difficult to tell the tale.

"Yes," the look of relief that spread across his face forced another laugh from me, only this time it was more genuine. "My Mother remembers you well. Apparently we were childhood sweethearts – or so she claims!"

"Now that I don't remember!" It was my turn to blush. "I have a vague idea of a swimming pool and a large golden retriever and picking strawberries. I listed my memories as they came to me. "But I am afraid that I didn't keep a lot of photo albums or anything of my parents, it was all such a...shock." I trailed off, the spectre of my Dad's death coming and casting it's coolness on the meeting. I shook my head and rubbed my arms, trying to get rid of the goose bumps that had risen up over my back. Someone was walking over my grave.

"I understand Izzy, really I do." The man next to me laid a large warm hand on my knee and I smiled up at him, grateful for the gesture. "The thing is, my Mother was not only surprised, but so happy that you are safe and well and she would love to see you again." He paused. "I'm sorry this is all rather sudden isn't it."

"I am used to it," I gave a Richard style shrug to cover the discomfort that we both felt and he once again moved his hand away. It was an awkward conversation to have. I did not doubt that Mr Cheyne senior was glad to hear that I was evidently alive and well, I am sure that it appeased his guilt and no doubt gave a cause to his wife. The fact that they had sent their son to carry the message seemed a little unfair. The fact that I found him good looking and a gentleman helped matters immensely.

"I didn't want to have this conversation over the phone which is why I asked you to come here. I tried a million times to pick it up and say 'hey, you realise we knew each other as kids that why we seemed familiar'. It didn't really work."

"I can understand. In fact I became aware earlier and, well didn't feel I could say anything. You would probably have thought me mad, especially after meeting my boss and the whole Christmas party fiasco." I flicked it away with my hand.

"It actually has proved incredibly popular. I mean there were some complaints about the noise on the evening, but the number of enquiries we've had since - about holding concerts, the band that played, even about who you were Izzy – it's kept my team on their toes, that for sure." He paused and smiled again, relaxed now that the difficult conversation was out of the way. "So do you sing with them often, that band I mean? You were really good – the whole set up."

"No, no." I shook my head and smiled wryly. "One of the members of the band is my..." I paused not sure how to refer to Richard in front of this man, "my flatmate." I settled for, not wanting to advertise the relationship. "I rather got roped in to singing because he struck a deal with my boss Fiona. Haven't quite forgiven either of them for it yet and am rather paying the price for doing so."

"But why? You were fantastic? What went wrong?" I smiled at his immediate concern, his body tensing slightly at the though I had been wronged. This man was a modern knight on a white charger.

"My boss and I don't see eye to eye on what I should do next. Think we might have come to the end of the relationship there," I said lightly; aware of the potential to do damage. I did not comment further, but watched as he frowned; his eyes flashing.

"I could understand that she is a demanding person to work with. Are you hoping to stay in PR? I possibly have some contacts if you are job hunting?" I resisted the urge to stand up and punch the air – the joys of networking. Instead I settled for a killer watt smile.

"Any help you could give Ralph would be greatly appreciated." I couldn't help it, but my voice went slightly breathy and stuck my chest out as I leant over and extracted my business card from my handbag on the floor. "Here you go, if you know of anywhere maybe you could pass on my details?"

"Well, actually, embarrassing to say this, but my sister works for Taylor Herring and they are actually looking for a couple of people..." He trailed off, the blush rising again.

"That is very kind of you Ralph, really." This time it was my turn to put my hand on his knee. "You've been really sweet," I added, looking into his warm brown eyes, trying to express my thanks. It was obvious he was putting himself out for me.

"Yeah well," He shrugged; for once looking at unease. "Tatty remembers you as well, probably more then I do, being older. It was her suggestion, well her and Mum's to ask if you want to come over this weekend – have lunch on Sunday and meet the family again. That is if you don't have any plans?"

"Sunday?" I was surprised and shocked. This was a very personal invitation, not just a sympathy call and guilt soother. I mentally reviewed my diary, unsure when Richard was planning on returning to London. But then this was my past and I wanted to reconnect. "Um, yes, that would be lovely Ralph, really lovely."

"Fantastic. Well, I was planning on driving down – the parents live in Surrey – well you probably remember as it wasn't far from you. Just outside Guildford. Anyway, I can pick you up and take you down if it would be easier?"

I found myself agreeing, the potential offer of a job with one of the top agencies in the country, coupled with meeting people from my former life was a very sweet offer. As I Ralph and I swapped details and said our goodbyes, a dreadful foreboding settled in the pit of my stomach. I hoped Richard wasn't home yet.

Walking into my flat I could tell that he was back. There was something different in the atmosphere, energy – the scattered remains of another person moving through the rooms, so that things did not feel as settled and dull as when I had left. "Hello," I called out warily, not sure where he was and not wishing for him to surprise me.

There was no answer and in the silence I moved forward, looking into his bedroom and mine, searching for some sign that he was there. His large bag had been thrown carelessly onto the second bedroom floor, his computer flung onto the bed, creasing the duvet cover; but no sign of his actual person. It was the same in my bedroom – his glasses were back by the side of the bed he claimed as his; a folded newspaper and magazine resting on the floor. The changes were small and I might have missed them if I was not feeling wound up after my meeting with Ralph.

It had been a strange experience, reconnecting with someone I only half remembered. I felt as if I should treat him the formality afforded to a stranger and yet there was a very strong connection between us; one that it seemed he and his family wished to exploit. If there was a chance of a job with one of the top London PR agencies for me, hey; I would do whatever was necessary. Even; it would seem; be enough of a Judas to deny the existence of my boyfriend.

But as opportunity was knocking, I wasted no time and sat down at the dining room table, booted up my computer and set my CV to Tatty Cheyne's e-mail as Ralph had instructed me to do. Being a Friday I doubted that much would happen over the weekend, but it was important to seem enthusiastic. I let my mind drift at the thought of working with the sort of accounts that wide eyed graduates dreamt of, huge multi-national, high profile companies; huge movie stars and pop acts were just some of their accounts.

I had just hit the 'send' button when I heard the sound of the key scrapping in the lock. A jumble of emotions flared up inside me – love, excitement and joy but all coupled with a certain panic and fear that we would once again fall into our bickering way. The handle turned, the wood pushed open and the tread of steps, moving past the door then stopping and the squeak of the floorboard as a heavy tread was taken backwards.

"Izzy?" I had almost forgotten what my name sounded like when spoken with Richard's soft Scottish lilt. Raising my eyes to meet him I found that my memory had done a disservice with his looks. In my mind he had almost become an emaciated waif, his appearance marred by our arguments and his tiredness had turned him in my imagination into a spectre. The person in front of me was a living breathing human, with more then his fair share of good looks.

He was standing framed in the doorway, the sun shining in through the windows highlighting him with a bright glow. The bags had disappeared from under his eyes, his hair was clean and neatly trimmed, so it fell to just above his shoulders. His jeans were hole free, his boots polished, his t-shirt ironed. The whole affect was of someone who had been cosseted and cared for and it reflected in the beaming smile he offered me. I couldn't help but echo it with one of my own.

"What are you doing home so early?" He asked, striding into the room, every step bringing him closer to me. I stood up from the chair, holding out my hand, drawn to his animal magnetism. Suddenly all the stress and strain that our relationship had and was undergoing did not seem to matter. His degree was a distraction, recording the album a mere inconvenience, the rest of the band and the need to tour nothing more then a minor problem. It was all in the here and now – I loved this man; lusted after him and would do anything to be by his side.

"I was sick," I managed to say, distracted with his appearance.

"Sick?" The word was uttered with surprise and the look he cast over me, slowly moving from my shoes upward to my face was exaggerated in its study. "Aye, obviously." A few weeks at home had deepened his burr again and the words came out gruffly although it was delivered with a cheeky smile in his usual way.

"And I wasn't expecting you back today. At the beginning of the week you said.."

"Aye, I know what I said." He cut in. "But I finished my essay, feel much more rested and there was no point staying up there. Far too much demanding my attention down here."

"What exactly?" What he said was true, but I wanted to hear him verbalise it and see where I came on the list.

"My degree obviously," he said solemnly, standing in front of me. "And the recording with the band." My lips thinned realising I was not in the top two of his list. He returned it by picking up my hand and planting a kiss on my knuckles. "But it all pales into insignificance next to missing you Izzy. I feel like I have been half a person these past few weeks without you."

The words were enough to make me fall into his arms with a slight sob – so glad at his admission, for it matched my own emotions. He caught me and I felt supported in his strong grasp that supported me. "Silly Izzy," he said chidingly. "Do you really think anything else would bring me back so soon?"

I sniffed and shook my head, looking up at him, tilting my head, so that I could look past the shadows cast by the mask, trying to catch the look in his eyes – if there were alight with teasing laughter or deeper blue and filled with seriousness. It didn't really work for he shifted his head and his hips and I could feel what he wanted from me.

"It's only four in the afternoon," I demurred, locking on his gaze.

"I haven't see you for three weeks," was his reply, and he bent to kiss me again, a gentle brushing of his lips against mine, soft and inviting; knowing how to get me to melt against him. He ran a hand through my hair, tangling his fingers in its length, tugging slightly so my head was titled up towards his. His eyes were lowered, the one inside his dark half mask hooded as the kiss he took this time stole some of my breath, his teeth nipping my lip; pulling them out and eliciting a gasp from me. "Unless you want to stop and have some tea?" The question was mocking, the curl of his lip suggestive with a leer.

"No," I shook my head breathless with anticipation, a tingle running through my body; my nipples erect with his suggestion. I had also been celibate for over a month for we had not had sex before he left – he had been far too wound up. But now, the lazy way he trailed his fingers across my jaw line and down onto me collarbone, another drenching kiss taken from my lips and then he spun me so that my bottom pressed against his legs; his erection digging into my back and the pressure he exerted moved us both forward in the direction of the bedroom.

The late March afternoon was still pouring light in through the window so that sunbeams danced off the dust streams and pinged small rainbows off bottles on my dressing table. He smiled at the sight and planted me to stand in the middle of one of the light refractions so that my body was covered with a multitude of colours. He paced around me, hi s footsteps echoing on the wooden floor with a dull thud, running his finger gown the back of my spine and causing me to shiver with the sensation. His fingers briefly rested at my neck and I could feel his breath warm on my skin as he undid the clasp at the back and pulled the zipper down so that the cotton sagged across my front.

A leisurely arm pulled it down and if fell to the floor, pooling at my feet and I stood there in nothing but bra, knickers and purple tights – topped off with my wedge sandals. I resisted the urge to cover myself; aware of his scrutiny but not wanting to attract his derision, as well as finding his wordless scrutiny a turn-on, as he continued to circle me rather like a predatory lion.

Finally he pounced, or in his case sneaked an arm around, cupping his hand across my stomach, his finger dipping down into the top of my pants. His breath was hot on my neck as I felt his groin once again grind into my back. "Did you miss me then?" He murmured into my ear, his voice thick and heavy with lust. I could do little but nod my head in reply. "How much?"

"Everyday," I tried to reply, but he silenced my comment with a finger over my mouth.

"Show me." I hesitated, wondering where this dominating side had come from, turned on but also slightly scared by the intensity of his behaviour. He was still fully dressed and masked, whilst I was standing there in very little. I briefly closed my eyes, breathing deeply before I opened them and focused on the man who had now moved in front of me. Slipping my hands underneath his t-shirt, I ran my fingers lightly over his body, feeling the individual ribs and muscles that made up his torso, scratching lightly with my nails before moving my hands up to his face, cradling it between my palms and dragging it down so that our lips could kiss.

I could tell that he expected me to remove his mask, but I didn't, kneeling in front of him instead, forcing him to remove his boots, large clumpy things that he had taken to wearing, out of place in the warmer seasonal weather. The mismatched holey socks underneath rather ruined the heavier rock image that he was cultivating, although redeemed by the tight black jeans. I undid his belt and pushed them down off his skinny hips. Soon my efforts had him clad like me in only his underwear. His underwear and his mask.

The smile that graced my lips was calculating as I decided to play him at his own game, tickling up his torso, my hands lightly gliding over the scars that decorated his ribcage- the other calling card at the hands of his stepfather. He flinched at my actions, his face breaking out into a smile, for I was one of the few people that knew him intimately enough to be aware that he was ticklish. It made me grin as well; for he was usually so serious – to see him double up with a childish giggle was infectious. It also ruined the intense moment that had been building and instead of continuing with our deep and passionate foreplay, I flung my arms around him and let him carry me over to the bed, dumping me on the sheets and kissing me with a single minded concentration, his hands tickling down my body in return so that I was soon a giggling squirming mess underneath him.

"Okay, let's call it quits," I suggested when he let me come up for air, my bra hanging off one arm, my tights and knickers in a tangled knot around my knees and my long straight hair a bird's nest around my shoulders.

"Quits?" He suggested with a wicked grin, grabbing my legs and pulling the tights off, depositing them on the floor, before removing the bra from where it was dangling and drapping it over the bedpost. I raised myself up on my elbows, so I could get a better look at him, sweaty and smiling in front of me, the only thing left on his body was his mask, which he wore coupled only with a very large erection.

"Come here you fool," I beckoned and pulled off the offending covering, replacing my hand with a long drenching kiss as he climbed on top of me.

"Oh god Izzy, I've missed you," he said a little while later. What had started out as such a passionate and intense sexual encounter had ended up with both of us laughing, enjoying being around each other, playing with each others bodies. It was not the heady stuff of romance novels; or the reunion that I had imagined, but the joy of finding someone who you connected with and were joined by both bodies and minds. It was something I had never experienced with the other few people I had slept with and left me feeling whole and completed, rather then with a buzz that disappeared almost as soon as you got dressed.

My bottom lip trembled as I surveyed him lying next to me and I rose up on one elbow, running my finger around the pecks on his chest, over his nipples, a slight smile flashing across my lips as he squirmed. "Please Iz, don't do that." He pushed my hand away before he caught the look on my face. "What's wrong?" I shrugged, not knowing how to find words. "Talk to me Izzy, please? What's bothering you? You have that look on your face."

I pursed my lips, ruminating over what I was thinking, what I wanted to say, scared that he would reject the words I wanted to speak. I didn't know how to verbalise it. "Do you every think," I paused, gathering my thoughts, feeling the emotion choke me as I turned it over in my head. "Do you ever think that you love someone so much that you just want to unzip their skin and climb inside? That you just want to be that close to them always?" I turned my head away from him, desperate to know his reaction but at the same time embarrassed all of a sudden, even though we lay naked side by side on the bed. I could feel the tears pricking at the back of my eyes.

His hand was on my shoulder, pulling me backwards to where he had pushed himself to sitting. "Izzy?" His voice was quiet and he gently tangled his long fingers in my hair, combing them through as if he were trying to restore order. "Are you trying to say that you..." He paused and the words came out as a strangled choke. "You love me?" The emotion was thick in his voice.

I shifted my head and looked into his eyes, frowning as I noticed a sheen of moisture in them. "Do you want me to?" He let out a strangled half laugh.

"Answer a question with a question Izzy – you seem to have picked up all my bad habits."

"And some of your good ones as well," I answered back, holding his gaze, not wanting to let him wriggle out of the moment as was his way. "Do you want my love Ric? There, is that a straight enough question for you?"

"Two questions at once." Another half laugh and he took a deep breath, crossing his legs and shifting so that he was propped against the pillows. "I find love a strange notion. I love my grandparents and they love each other very much – even if they bicker a lot. But my Mother didn't love the people she slept with and the one she stayed with loved her jealously which was so possessive that it killed her." I frowned, wondering how my question turned into an analysis of his life and why the dead always had to enter our conversations.

"My mother loved my father, to the very end." I replied. "And he loved her so much that he couldn't live without her. Love comes in many guises Ric and can mean many different things to many people. Alanya and Jim love each other don't they?"

"Oh aye, totally." He replied without hesitation.

"But what you grandparents have is different from that and," I took a deep breath and tried not to rush. "What I feel for you is probably not the same as your grandparents feel for each other. But the thing is Ric, I'm yours, even if I didn't want it, I would still be yours. My heart beats a little faster when you are around, I smile, and I want to be with you. Life just seems to make sense to me when you are in it. Therefore I can only surmise that I love you and yes it is slightly scary, but wonderful at the same time. Can you understand?" I could feel the tears starting to well up again. "I'm not out to trap you, possess you, lock you in the house for the next fifty years." I stopped as the tears split over my eyes and ran down my cheeks. "Oh bugger!" I fruitlessly wiped them off with my hands, although he stilled the action and bent over kissing them away with his lips.

"I've always wondered why tears taste salty?" he asked, locking his gaze on mine, although his image was blurry as my eyes were swimming with tears.

"Stop it Ric!" Anger coursed through me and I banged the duvet cover with my fist. "Stop dogging around the question and just say 'yes' or 'no'. Do you love me Ric? Do you?" The silence stretch like elastic as he held my gaze, not speaking, barely moving , before he gave a nod almost so small as to be imperceptible.

"Aye." His voice was quiet, modulated as if any grandiose gestures or loud speech might ruin the moment and force him to retract the statement. "I love you Isabella Saunders. I love you and I think I always will." He stopped and clenched his jaw before he threw a defiant look at me. "Do you want me to go on or shall I stop there?"

"Please don't stop on my account," I replied, a smile spread across my face. "I have never heard you wax lyrical on this subject. It's usually to do wit the law, or recording music or.."

"Recording music!" He froze. "What's the time Izzy?"

"Um," I looked over my shoulder at the clock next to the bed. "Six!"

"Shit!" He climbed off the bed, grabbing his clothes and putting them on, the moment totally and utterly lost. "I am supposed to be at the studios by six-thirty and I will not be popular if I am late. Damn the clocks going forward, I thought it was early because it's so light." He talked as he strode around the room, his t-shirt in his hand, his boots in the other, pausing to look at me lying naked on the bed. "Oh Izzy, I am falling into insensitive man category aren't I?"

I shrugged, but realised that he was too perceptive to ignore the change in mood. From deep and loving to panicked in one flash. "Yes, totally. Talk about ruining the moment."

"Come with me," he said in a flash. "Come and see what I am doing and maybe we can get some of your vocals down, which would be a treat. Immortalised on the first studio album Cluinn recorded! And I promise to whisper sweet nothings in your ear all the way to the studio." I hesitated and then sighed, climbing off the bed. Better to be with him and watch him singing then be alone in the flat again.

"It will cost you a kiss though," I warned, gathering up my discarded clothing. He grabbed me and pulled me to him, his chest still warm, kissing me with passion. "I love you Izzy. Let's go and make some music."


	26. Chapter 26

**And another offering in which Izzy is a...well you will have to read it and find out. And leave me a review please, please! They are my virtual chocolate and keep me writing.**

Chapter Twenty-Six

I woke early on Sunday morning, butterflies dancing in my stomach – from nerves, excitement, worry – I could not say; but it was only just past six as I lay there, watching the sunlight dancing through a gap in the curtains. Next to me Ric was curled up in the duvet, his head lolling on the pillows and arms flung back around his skull in the way a small child sleeps. I was not surprised that he was still in repose; not only was it very early but in the thirty-six hours since he had been back he had once again thrown himself into the punishing schedule he had kept earlier in the year.

We had been at the recording studios until the early hours of the morning, Ric singing the words of his music repeatedly until his voice was hoarse with the effort. I had been amazed by the effort that had gone into creating this album – in my naive state I had imagined they stood in a studio and sung; much the same way they performed a concert only without an audience. It took me about thirty minutes to realise how wrong I was.

Since January they had been recording the music, each member at their own time, isolated from each other in a sound booth playing along to a basic tune that Jim told me was known as a 'scratch.' Firstly Sandy had put down the drum beat; followed by Angus on bass. It was only hearing this basic music that allowed Jim to add the flourishes and riffs of the lead guitar. Like the layers of a cake Richard was the icing, adding touches of piano, violin; whatever the songs required. It was only once these complex tunes had been interwoven into the songs that the lyrics were added. The time it took astounded me; if not everyone else in those stuffy studios.

In twenty-four hours only four songs were recorded; four songs each about four minutes of listening time, took nearly six hours each, as they were picked apart line by line and word by word; the overall sound dissected under the microscope of the mixing board. I could not find the guts to record the lyrics to 'Broken', the whole process seeming too difficult and slightly worried at being the centre of attention. Instead I sat inside the studio watching everything that was going on and trying not to get in the way.

Just when I thought things were going well someone would curse and storm off; usually Jim, whilst Richard sat there, reading a psychology text book in between his pitch perfect takes. The ease with which he sang was maddening – to all that listened, including the boss of their record label – one Devlin Saunders.

I was slightly in awe of this man; his cockney charm and overly familiar manner. He treated me like his new best friend, winking and laughing with me when things went wrong, raising his eyebrows and casting me a pointed look at the myriad of petty arguments that arose between Richard and Jim. It was hard not to giggle at times.

And yet he was all business as he lectured the group, his voice deep with anger as he ripped them to shreds about their laid back behaviour. "This is your chance boys," he said with a slight sneer. "And if you cannot sort out your bickering then you will get no where." He swivelled about, casting a beady eye over the whole group who rather resembled a gaggle of naughty schoolboys being told off, all diverted gazes and hunched shoulders. And in between the advice that was dispensed, they were all told to report on Sunday for an image consultancy and photo shoot. I swallowed deeply at the words, realising that I had not told Richard about my plans for that day.

It probably added to my anxiety that morning, as I lay there, buffing back the cuticles of my nails. If I stopped and thought about the lunch, I could feel all the emotions creating turmoil in my body. Visiting the stomping grounds of my youth was exciting. Meeting people who knew my father worrying, for I was scared they would judge me on his behaviour. Potentially getting a new job was fascinating as I was fed up of Fiona's behaviour at work. Seeing Ralph again – that was more difficult for I could not ignore the frisson that shot through my body when I recalled the lazy smile he aimed at me or his groomed presentation.

Possibly it was this emotion that caused me the most angst. Why, not forty-eight hours after getting Richard to admit his love for me, was I excited at meeting another man? Especially when I was attracted to him on such a base level? I did not have a chance to answer my question for Richard rolled over, running a large hand up my body, coming to rest on my breast and he opened his eyelid to wink a beady blue eyelid at me.

"You're awake early," he said, his voice still rough from the vocal gymnastics of the day before. I flashed a smile back at him, not sure what to say – unable to tell him of my worries; for it would be too big a blow to thrust it on him so early in the morning.

"I was contemplating getting up, fetching the papers; cooking breakfast..." I suggested with an innocent guile that belied my true intentions. Possibly if I cosseted him enough and then told him of my plans for the day he would not react badly.

"Sounds delightful!" He opened both eyes and smiled widely at me, shifting his body and drawing me into him so that he half lay on top, his thumb circling my nipple some more. Damn the needs of a man in the morning, I half cursed to myself; all the while getting turned on by his actions. "But I have a suggestion for the starter." He pressed me back into the pillows and raised himself over me; pushing down so that our lips met, kissing me with hot smelly breath.

"Eughh," I moved my head. "Morning breath," I wiped my mouth before pausing and then went back in for more, enjoying the sensation and mood – if not the taste.

"No worse then yours," he rejoined, kissing me again, lowering himself down and trailing kisses down my neck and onto my chest before pushing aside my small camisole top and closing his lips around my pert nipple. He sucked deeply, his eyes closed, dark lashes casting shadows on his cheek as I lazily observed him, my former agitation disappearing with his ministrations. First one breast and then the other as his fingers worked their way down my body and into my pyjama pants, pushing them off my hips.

He entered me slowly as if he were savouring a first mouthful, easing his way into my body as I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his body, pulling him in closer, resting my head on the crook of his shoulder, feeling the deep shudders that went through him as I tightened around him. It was beautiful simple morning sex that was as basic to our needs as yawning and the cup of tea we both needed to flog us into action. We collapsed back onto the pillows afterwards and he wrapped his arm around my body; drawing me in so I rested my head on his chest, unable to see his face, but listening to the beat of his heart; as rhythmic as the metronome that marked Cluinn's music.

"I suppose this is where I should tell you that I love you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"Do you want to?"

"Aye, of course." He shrugged. "Okay, Iz – I love you." He paused. "There, is that good enough?" I giggled slightly.

"Perfect. A-plus. Now, is it my turn?"

"For breakfast or the spoken word?" He rolled over onto his side; head propped up on his hand and smiled at me, although his hand pulled his skin out of line and it came out as a leer.

"I shall write out my feelings in tomato ketchup," was my flippant reply as I pecked a kiss on my lips, before wriggling out of bed and throwing on some leggings and a sweater.

Thirty minutes later and a full cooked breakfast sat on the table, minus the emotions in red sauce. Ric stumbled out of bed, having obviously fallen asleep again. His hair a bird nest; which coupled with glasses perched on his nose and his usual bedtime attire of boxers and a t-shirt with a sweater on top as the morning was slightly cool did not create the image of a rock star. It was aided even less by the huge yawn he gave as he idly flung himself into the chair; causing it to rock slightly on its legs.

"What have I done to deserve this?" he asked with another yawn and a stretch as I slid into the chair opposite him. I smiled deeply not wanting to let him know that I planned to abandon him for the day.

"Can't I just spoil you occasionally? You rarely stand still long enough for me to do anything for you these days?" Unfortunately my words came out with a petulant ring, demanding and whiny; rather then light hearted.

"You spoil me a lot Izzy," he retorted, picking up his cutlery and consuming the fried breakfast with genuine delight. "And the fact that you made me go back up to my Grandparents when I was shows that you care and that cannot be put into words." He resumed his eating, leaving me hanging on his comment. "You know what I managed to achieve whilst I was away?" I shrugged. "Got my third essay done and have handed it in – a whole month early, which takes so much weight off my shoulders! One month more of lectures, exam in May and then that's it!" His face was a picture of delight. "Two years of my life is nearly over and to be honest I am as glad as hell about it. It has all become rather intense."

I stared at him warily. "You aren't planning to drop out are you? Not because of the band recording and getting serious? I mean you have come this far that to throw it all in now would be...silly surely?"

"Oh god Izzy, I wouldn't do that. I need to finish this MA, but if my future plans all have to go on the back burner for a few years then so be it. I have spent the whole of my twenties immersed in study and work so that I can become an Advocat. I got my degree, worked for two years in a solicitor's and then came down here and did this course for two years. Now I just want to taste the other side of things so that I know that the law is truly what I want to do."

"When did you come to this decision?" I tried not to let my mouth hang open. Until now the dichotomy of Richard's life caused him great angst. Suddenly he seemed to be accepting of the direction the path lay in and was going to follow the music route. I wondered when the change of heart occurred.

"Back home," he gave an atypical shrug. "I had some long conversations with Gram and Gramps, both about my course and also about the band. They helped me see some sense; in the gently bullying way they have." He gave a wry smile at the face I pulled. "'You will regret it for the rest of your life if you don't use your God given gift and make some music.'" Richard mimicked the Glaswegian tones of his grandmother; the noise wringing a laugh out of me. "And Gramps pointed out that I could be an Advocat for the rest of my life, but it was sad seeing old men pretending to be rock stars. Not that it made much difference, 'cause I know he is a fan of Status Quo!" I laughed at his silly comment, glad that for the first time; well for the first time since I had known him he seemed at peace with his decision. It explained his behaviour since he had returned.

"You still have your dissertation to write." He waved it away with his hand, as if he wrote one everyday.

"Halfway through already. Research done and collected and am analysing the results. You know Iz; it will be glorious not to have to be doing work after all this had finished. Not being at the beck and call of a timetable."

"So writing songs, recording and touring isn't work? I am sure you will be even more at the beck and call of someone then before. Isn't it that the record label says jump and you are supposed to respond 'how high' or the like?" He grimaced and pushed his empty plate to one side, resting his head on his hand, nodding at the cynicism in my voice.

"Yes," he sighed. "There are certain advantages to having spent the past nine years immersed in the law and that is I can dissect a legal contract down and it is pretty water tight and very demanding. But," he added grabbing my hand with his spare one and holding it across the table, "it will make me and the other band members' very rich people if it all works out. All a question of how much of you soul you are willing to part with in the process."

"Well, if you are willing to dance with the devil," I muttered in return.

"It is better to dance with the devil you know then the devil you don't, you mean Izzy," he supplied. Damn him and his encyclopaedic knowledge, it was impossible to quote anything without being corrected as he seemed to have read practically every single book ever written.

"Well that too!" Petulant tone again as I, wondered how even our most basic conversation always ended up with me getting annoyed. It wasn't the outwardly point scoring way we used to have, but Ric just had this way of always having the final word. Feeling slightly wronged by his correction I plunged ahead with my plans for the day, rather then let him gently know, as had been my previous approach.

"You are busy today aren't you?"

"When am I not?" He accompanied the fact with another sigh. "Much as I would love to go back to bed with you and the Sunday papers Izzy, we'd better get going."

"We?" I narrowed my eyes at his comment.

"Sorry, me. The band has this stupid image thing, makeover job. They want to create strong identities for each of us, review the chosen facts – create an image that we wish people to see. I agreed as I don't want people knowing everything about my life and sometimes working out the facts in advance." He paused and sat up straight, squinting at me slightly. "Did you want to come?"

"No, no," I waved the suggestion away. "I have plans, going to meet some old friends for lunch. I guess I'll be back about four, or so."

"Cool. Hopefully we'll have finished about the same time and it is far too nice a day to spend it stuck inside a studio." He stood up from the table and pulled me out of my chair; enveloping me in a big hug, our lips meeting for a lengthy and forceful kiss. When we parted he moved away; so that I stood there feeling slightly dim witted. "That will have to last you," he called over his shoulder as he made his way back to the bathroom.

I stood there for a moment, trying to collect myself. As always information in my life came in a barrage of fact and it took me a moment to assimilate it all, pick out what was relevant and act upon it. In this instance the fact that I so easily escaped any obligations towards Ric and Cluinn today was what stood out. I had managed to free up my entire day with only the barest of white lies. In fact not really a lie; more an omission – didn't think Ric would be so happy if he knew that I was going to lunch with Ralph Cheyne and his family!

***

I dressed very carefully, trying to find the right balance between looking informal enough for a Sunday lunch and yet not scruffy. Finally, after what seemed like countless outfit combinations, my bed littered with rejected choices. Mini skirt – too tarty? Capri pants, possibly too summery, after all only the end of March whilst a long skirt and tights had echoes of winter and the sunny breezy day demanded something more spring like. I envied Ric, for he always dressed the same; few concessions given towards the seasons or company; bar the presence of his grandparents.

In the end I settled for a pair of linen trousers and a neat navy top with my wedges and a pashmina shawl. It struck me as classic and simple, especially when I swept my hair up into a French pleat and added oversized sunglasses. I posed in front of the mirror, twisting around to make sure that my knickers didn't show and there were no stray tags hanging off. Yup, just the look I wanted to achieve. When the buzzer to the flat sounded I went downstairs with a spring in my step, feeling positive with myself and my appearance.

"Wow," Ralph said as I bounded down the front steps of the flat and onto the pavement. He was leaning against his car, his legs casually crossed in front of him and I stopped dead; appreciating his good looks. He was the sunshine in contrast to Ric's winter; or the daytime to night. Unlike Richard's mainly black clothing, Ralph was dressed with a simple preppy care that could only come from having money. His chinos were casually smart, the poplin shirt was well tailored but loose enough for a weekend and the rolled back sleeved revealed tanned forearms. He had aviator sunglasses pushed back onto his dark blonde hair and his bottom rested on a Porsche (too much of a girl to tag it as a Cayman at first glance).

"Wow back," was my reply. "You even made the sun shine." He laughed long and loud, tipping his head back with a relaxed elegance, not worried about the attention he attracted from the few people in the street.

"No, that would be my mother. She probably wants lunch outside and it wouldn't dare rain on Annabel Cheyne's plans. He was such a gentleman as he opened the door and let me slide into the car, my choice of music; as we drove out of London, speeding down the A3 toward Surrey. A lump rose in my throat as we turned off and drove through the beautiful countryside, where the landscape reared up to form the Surrey Hills, plunging down into the undulating folds of the Weald. The sun touched everything with its rays, the few puffy white clouds that floated in the sky casting small spots of shadow on the vast swathes of green that stretched either side of the road, only highlighted the perfect weather.

It was over an hour before the signposts finally named the right places and we came off the fast roads and onto smaller country lanes, winding our way deeper into the countryside in all its chocolate box glory. We finally approached the house – a turn of the century tile hung mansion that sprawled across its acres in a way modern houses never could. Polite notices informed the lost or curious that the road outside was private and the electric gates prevented anyone from wandering in uninvited. Very Surrey stockbrokers, as so many of the houses were around here. Those that were successful enough to have 'it' did not want to share.

I gave a small gasp as we drew up to the house, realising that it was strongly familiar. In an instance I was aware that I had spent a lot of time here and memories that I had previously locked away came flooding back to me. The sweep of the gravel drive, the croquet pitch perfect front lawn and the large beech tree that gently spread it branches over the edge of the garden were all familiar now that I viewed them. Yes, I had come back to somewhere I recognised.

"Ready for the onslaught," Ralph warned me with one raised eyebrow. I nodded, gathered the small gift I had bought for my hostess and running a hand over my carefully selected outfit I followed Ralph into the house. The contrast to the sunny day outside had me momentarily pausing as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, except Ralph moved ahead, leaving me temporarily blinded. "Mamma," I heard him greet his Mother, although I frowned at the babyish title. The tone of voice was pitched too low for me to hear the reply but the sound of shoes on the floor alerted me to another's presence and my frown was quickly replaced with a smile.

"Isabella, Isabella," I heard a woman mention my name, her voice filled with warmth and I although I went forward to shake her hand, she gave me a fragile embrace; delicately touching cheeks with me in a parody of a hug. "You have grown, grown up," she surveyed me up and down before adding. "And grown beautiful." I blushed at her generous comment and with a few words handed her the box of chocolates I had bought. How contrasting this was to my arrival at Richard's grandparents. Then I had been tired and lost, this was much more carefully staged and we all knew the roles we had to play.

Everything was done to plan, the glass of wine handed to me; gently ushered outside to sit under a large umbrella on a carefully laid patio overlooking the manicured lawn and gardens. It wasn't the jaw dropping beauty of the Marquis of Granthorn's country seat in Scotland, but it still screamed wealth and money.

"Tat's coming down isn't she?" Ralph drawled to his mother as we sat there, the conversation light and easy.

"Haven't you spoken to her?" His mother's voice sounded sharp.

"Well yes, but she was pissed off because I said I couldn't give her a lift down," he scowled into his wine glass.

"Language Ralph," his mother corrected almost automatically as she took a sip of her spritzer before she sighed. "Yes well, you know your sister." I tried not to raise my eyebrows at the rumblings of a typical family under the perfect surface. The clang of the gates opening alerted us to the fact that someone was entering the house, accompanied by the roar of a car and the spin of gravel under it' wheels. "If she digs up the driveway again, her father will never forgive her." Ralph's mother sighed and I shot a glance at Ralph.

It was only a few minutes later that a sharp 'hello' echoed through the house and the tap of heels came through and outside. With the sun shinning against the house the speaker was thrown into shadow and so her voice emerged before she did. "Hello Mummy, Ralph." There was a pause and then the figure moved towards me and the words came out as a question. "Isabella?" I stood up and greeted the women startlingly my height, with not a dissimilarity of appearance, although she was wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, her eyes hidden by large sunglasses.

"Tatiana," I said, unsurprised as this almost total stranger air kissed me on both cheeks and collapsed into a chair next to me. "Ralph, be a darling and get me an Alka Seltzer would you sweetheart?" She commanded airily and lifted her sunglasses an inch to look at me, before wincing in the sunbeam and dropping them again.

"Tatty, you weren't out last night again were you?" Disapproval marked Annabel Cheyne's tone and her daughter gave a grimace.

"Not too late Mummy, but it was a club who is on my account and the drinks were gratis." She let out a huge yawn and lolled her head against the back of her chair. I smiled at the sight, reminded slightly of Jim's behaviour. It had the same indolent touch in its actions. Her brother returned with a bottle of Purdy's and a glass of the frothy painkiller, shaking his head at his older sister.

"Tat, I left at eleven, how long did you stay up?" My shoulders shook as I saw the kick she aimed at her brother's ankle before hastily changing subject.

"Thanks for sending me your CV Izzy," she spoke, abbreviating my name uninvited. "I've put it in for fast tracking and they are making all the right noises over it. We have a mentoring system at work, so if you get taken on I will guide you through." She lifted her glasses again and winked at me. "Between you and me, you have the job," before she added sotto voice, " the fact that you have worked for Fuck and Fiddler for two years is interview enough!"

"Fuc...Oh, you mean Farrow and Faith!" My eyes were wide with the coarse way she referred to my current bosses.

"Oh yeah, that's just how everyone else knows them. Fiona Farrow has quite a reputation you know – for more then just her coke habit!" Tatiana gave a hoarse laugh. "But you are an account director there, which means you must have some mettle and that is exactly the sort of person TH looks for." She said it so airily that I wasn't sure if I should take her seriously and shot a glance at her brother who was leaning into our little huddle, frowning at his sister's words.

"Tat, does this mean Izzy is hired?" He obviously picked up on my discomfort and asked the question.

"Well, I am not HR, so I can't say 'yes absolutely' but as far as I am aware it's in the bag. Tell you what Izzy – you can happily resign on Monday and there will be a job for you – promise." I smiled and was about to jump in with reams of thanks before I hesitated, Ric's image flashing in front of me, his lecture about checking the finer detail ran through my head.

"At the same level I am now?" I confirmed. "It's all very well jacking in a job as an account director, but I don't want to be hired as a tea girl." Ralph laughed at my words.

"Very astute of you Izzy. Well Tat, what plans are there for Izzy over at the TH Empire? Girl Friday or the cleaner?"

"Ha, ha. God you oaf," she scowled at him. "I put her forward as an account director. Of course she can only be a junior account manager whilst on probation, but that's just a formality." She raised her voice, once again including her mother in the conversation. "I think we can easily say that Isabella will become a valued part of the team." Her Mother looked up sharply at the words and Tatiana smiled sweetly. "Don't worry Mummy, I meant the team at work. Now when is lunch, I could eat a horse I am so hungry!" I couldn't help but smile, realising that I could like Tatiana Cheyne and her forthright way – it was very refreshing.

Lunch was perfectly presented and served – without Annabel Cheyne seeming to get flustered or busy. Mainly because (as I later learned) it had all been prepared by their house keeper the day before and she only had to reheat the main dishes. We sat around a large oak table in an airy conservatory, the conversation polite and light – Cheyne senior finally joining us for the meal from wherever he had holed himself.

After lunch I wandered across the lawn with Tatty and Ralph, feeling a mild buzz of alcohol flowing through my veins, although I had not imbibed at lunch, knowing that I needed to keep calm and sober. We stopped at the swimming pool, a slightly sorry sight with a puddle of water and dead leaves on top of the cover. "Do you use it a lot?" I asked with curiosity.

"Last summer, hardly ever as the weather was so awful," Ralph said, also staring at the water.

"Not like when we were younger. Why is it summers seemed long and hot when you were young? Don't you remember the early nineties Izzy? You were over here swimming everyday I think?" Tatty added, taking a swig from her glass of water. She hadn't touched any wine for the whole of lunch and I realised that she was still suffering the effects of the night before. "You and Ralph were inseparable – we all said you were going to get married!"

"Tat, shut up!" Ralph hissed through his teeth and I noticed that he had turned a becoming shade of red, the blush rising through his face. "We were nine, ten at most." He smiled and the colour faded. "Actually do you remember any of that Izzy? Do you remember coming here at all?"

"My memories are very confused," I admitted. "I have blocked a lot of it out you know, my way of coping. But now that I am here," I turned a slow circle taking in the view of the house and gardens. "Yeah, a lot is coming back to me and I am able to separate out memories into actual events. Wasn't there a really big party one summer evening – a marquee on the lawn over there," I pointed in the general direction. "I remember sitting under the stairs with both of you and another girl and drinking Shirley Temples and giggling because we thought we had alcohol and were getting drunk!"

"Oh shit, I had forgotten about that," Tatiana cried. "Yes, that was Dad's fortieth wasn't it Ralph! And that was the night that Scott Levington got so drunk he walked into the swimming pool – that was so funny." At her recall, I suddenly got a flash of a man staggering in a line and not realising the pathway ended in water. I laughed, partly at the memory, partly at being with people who could reminisce with me.

Tatiana wrapped a friendly arm around my shoulders, her sunglasses once again firmly planted across her eyes. "Now Izzy, what I want to know about is this singing you did? Ralph showed me the video from the concert. That was so amazing? Do you do it regularly and who was the band, because I haven't managed to find out too much about them? I want to know all about it."

We wandered back up the path arm in arm, as if we were best friends and I filled her in on Cluinn, the lead singer and the rest of the band and my role as nothing more then a bet, making her laugh as the way I had been inveigled into performing. I remained silent on my relationship with the lead singer however, simply saying that we shared a flat and nothing more. I did not understand the motivation myself, but I did not want these people to know that I called Richard my boyfriend.

"They are about to release an album as well, nearly finished," I added, unable to keep the pride out of my voice as I finished my litany. We sat at the outside table again; the remnants of tea spread in front of us, only partially touched as we had been so busy chatting.

"Under which label?" Tatty's astute comments made me realise that she knew something about the music industry, probably more then I did in fact.

"Um, Gin sounds I think."

"Gin sounds. That was Eric St. John's old label – bought up by EGA wasn't it?"

"Yes," I nodded sagely, my facts scant, only what Jim and Richard had told me. "It is apparently an arm they use for less well known bands, nothing so mainstream. But they are putting a decent whack of money behind it; they are expecting them to go quite big. At least that is what I've heard."

"Hmm, well if Eric St. John had his sticky fingers in it at all then very possibly. He is supposedly retired, but comes up more then a recurring decimal – always bumping into him in strange places for a composer." She shrugged.

"Do you know this Eric chap then?" I asked with curiosity, recognising the name from earlier conversations that Richard and Jim had. "I haven't met him and the band has never mentioned him, someone called Devon Summers instead."

"As a nodding acquaintance only. I used to do the PR for a couple of groups he managed and we locked loggerheads on occasion. Devon use to be his assistant, but I guess now works for EGA, but I am sure that old ties die hard and he probably uses St. John's antenna for picking out new bands – hence the reason they are willing to throw money at your flatmate's group. It is a very incestuous world, that of music. I suppose most industries are – except the world of PR as we are expected to flirt with every new idea and be everyone's best friend." She sighed and raised her sunglasses an inch, assessing the sun which had started to drop slightly lower in the sky. "One thing I can promise you Izzy is that the parties you can attend in the music trade are..." She shook her head, a smile of memories on her lips. "You will never attend anything else like them."

"Point taken," I said, giggling slightly, looking over my shoulder for Ralph, wondering where he had gone. He removed himself from us when we started chatting and whilst we sat at the outside table, whilst he had disappeared inside.

"Oh Ralph is probably talking to Pater," she mentioned, noting where my gaze lay. "Speaking of which let's go and find him – time to head back into the smoke I think." She levered herself up and looked around at the sun setting over the gardens and hills around. "I always leave here with mixed feelings – it is so beautiful, but I miss the big smoke and all the excitement of London. I get twitchy if I am down here for more then a couple of days now."

"It's lovely to come back down," I said wistfully, taking in the sights, sounds and smells of early spring in the late afternoon, trying to implant them on my memory. "I sometimes wake up and wonder where I am, and then I hear the roar of traffic and just know it cannot be my parent's home. There you were more likely to have a dove cooing in your ear."

"Ha, but in London you have a shop five seconds down the road – it's ten minute drive here – count your blessings," Tatty counselled with a hoarse laugh. "God, I could do with a drink – but I am abstaining today. Tell you what Izzy, shall we meet up in the week for a quick one after work. You are based over Covent Garden way aren't you?"

I nodded and as we wandered into the house, swapped phone numbers and addresses. I was glad of her cheery personality and straight talking; it had made the day a lot easier and I had been able to relax, not feel as if I were on show. Ralph stood in the kitchen with his Mother, talking to her intently, the conversation level only a few stages down from an argument, given the intensity of their expressions and the atmosphere that resonated in the air.

"Not planning on marrying Mum, so just lay off," was the sentence that echoed in the kitchen as we walked in.

"Oh favourite topic again Ralphy," Tatty teased shooting her brother a sarcastic smile, which he returned with a flick of his fingers, hitting her subtly in the wrist. It would seem that their whole relationship still had a degree of childish one-upmanship about it. He made a noise through his nose before turning and smiling at me, as calm and unruffled as when we had first arrived.

"Time to head back," he said wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side in a possessive gesture. "The traffic on the A3 will be hell – guaranteed." We swapped goodbyes and drove off, Annabel and Tatiana waving us away at the front door. It had been a very nice day and the positive glow stayed with me, even if my driving partner seemed a little more withdrawn, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown and his conversation little as he seemed to be concentrating on the road.

It was six o'clock by the time we pulled into my road, the daylight fading into dusk, the clocks only recently having moved into daylight saving. There were no lights on in the flat and with a frown I realised that Ric must still be out. I turned to Ralph, his profile silhouetted against the car window. "Well, thank you," I said, my hand on the door handle. "It has been a very lovely day."

"Yeah, it has," he agreed, opening his door and getting out – the consummate gentlemen as he came around the passenger side of the car and opened the door for me, accompanied my movements as I gently strolled to my flat and up the six steps to the front door. I stood on the top step and he was one lower, but his taller stature bought his gaze level with mine. His warm brown eyes carried a wistful look in them as he smiled at me. "We should do it again some time, all go down in the summer maybe, have a garden party," he suggested a slight smile on his face. "It was great to take you down there again."

He moved forward hesitantly and I turned my cheek, expecting the classic peck, which seemed to be de rigueur amongst acquaintances nowadays. Except I felt his lips land on mine, warm and dry, softly kissing me before drawing back. I gave a small gasp, shocked and rattled; not quite sure what to say. He gave me another devastating smile. "Goodnight Izzy. See you soon." And then he turned and climbed in his car, a slight wave and a hoot of his horn as he drove off, leaving me standing witless on the doorstep.

* * *

**Oh oh Izzy! And where is Ric?**


	27. Chapter 27

**Thank you for your kind reviews that keep coming - although I would appreciate more. Just to let you know that Eric St. John and Devlin Summers are from another of my stories 'Life After'. Anyway hope you enjoy this chapter - little less of a cliff hanger on this one.**

Chapter Twenty-Seven

My heart was pounding as I stepped inside the front door, furiously pumping blood around my body as it had all drained away when Ralph kissed me, the thumping causing physical pain in my chest with the effort. I slowly climbed the two flights of stairs up to my flat, trying to sort out theories and rejoinders in my head in case Ric had been witness to the act. Hopefully not, for there was a vestibule over the door and with a bit of luck it would have shadowed our actions.

I opened the door carefully, quietly, not sure if Richard was there or not. The lights were all off, but as it had only noticeably started to get dark, I could not assume he would have the house lit up. "Hello," my voice came out weedy and trembling, nervous in tone and frightened in pitch – labelling me guilty with its single syllable. Silence answered back, echoing through the rooms and so I called out a second time. "Ric?" Still no answer was forthcoming and I sunk onto the sofa, a hand pressed to my heart which had started to slow down a bit, the adrenalin rush subsiding slightly; leaving me feeling drained and limp with exhaustion so that it was all I could do to flop back against the cushions, not giving a damn about my hairstyle that I so carefully created a few hours again.

I started to give in to tiredness, partially from relief and also from my early start and my eyes drifted close in repose. I had just started to float off, the noises outside fading into the background, when the click of the key in the lock alerted to me Richard's return. The bang as the door shut, footsteps into the room and the clank as keys were tossed onto the table. I could hear his breathing, but kept my eyes shut, not wanted to face him and let him see the guilt that must be shinning in them.

"Izzy? You awake?" His voice was gruff and sounded as tired as I felt and so I took a deep breath and let my eyelids flutter open as if I had been having a light nap.

"Hello darling," I said my traitor's smile plastered on my face and I pushed myself to stand next to him. However the arm he wrapped around me and the kiss he planted on my head was more automatic then loving and he restlessly moved off, putting a clanking carrier bag down on the table and reaching inside pulled out a bottle of beer, shucking the top off with the opener on his keys and taking a long swig.

"Beer?" He proffered the open bottle at me, but I shook my head with a frown, surprised at him, for he rarely drunk without food or alone and it was a rare occurrence indeed for him to come back with several bottles of anything alcoholic. I had never seen him sit there, swigging beer bottles. He collapsed with a slight grunt onto the sofa, the silence stretching between us in the growing gloom as he shucked his trainers off with a sigh and propped his large feet on the coffee table in front of him, sucking on his bottle of beer before he lent his head back with a sigh, an almost exact copy of what I had done only minutes before.

I stood there and watched him silently, my eyes straining in semi-light, waiting for him to say something, acknowledge me and my guilt, complain, question, anything apart from the introspective silence. Finally looking for something to do, I walked over and switched the light on, flooding the room with warm yellow colour, undoing my high wedge heels and flexing my feet on the coolness of the wooden floor; studying my toes and wondering if my nail polish was chipping.

"You look nice," Ric finally broke the quiet and I snapped my head up at the unusual comment, staring at him. It was said plainly with neither sarcasm nor passion – as if it were an actual statement of fact. I didn't answer him; so thrown by his out of character observation, but he continued. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to see the Blonde Buffoon?"

"Blonde Buffoon?" I didn't know he was referring to, wondering if it were a new nickname for Jim, although his hair was more a sandy colour.

"Raaaffee Chayneee," he drawled, elongating the syllables of his name, so it sounded ridiculous. "I saw him drive off down the road and then he stopped and said 'hello' to me. Wanted to know if I was interested in performing at the hotel again and then when I said we were about to release an album; wished me luck! He is horrifically nice isn't he?" He said the word as if it were a heavy burden and not a compliment.

"Oh," my outward composure was uninterrupted but inside I was cursing and swearing. Oh how a simple omission had erupted in my face. I had lied to try and avoid a situation like this, not bring one on and... Suddenly I stopped, realising that Ric had simply questioned his presence. He did not know about the stolen kiss and his voice was more enquiring then angry. "It was Ralph's family I went to see; he gave me a lift down to Surrey." I hesitated then qualified my statement. "Remember I told you, his parents knew mine – my father use to work for the company... They realised who I was and I guess in a guilty moment invited me for lunch."

"That can't have been an easy day for you," his voice sounded slightly sad and wistful. "Why didn't you tell me that's where you were going? I would have cancelled today and come with you; given you moral support." He held out an arm, beckoning with his fingers for me to join him and he drew me down onto the sofa next to him, pulling me into his side.

"No, I didn't want you to do that!" Alarm sounded in my voice, images of Richard punching Ralph into the swimming pool popping into my brain as he witnessed the way Ralph flirted with me (and I returned the action). "Besides, I had to do this by myself – go and settle old accounts and you needed to do this photo shoot.

"Oh Iz, how typically giving of you – as always." I lent his head against his shoulder relaxing into the curve of his arm, my eyes sweeping over his skin, realising that it was caked with foundation. In my worry I had avoided looking at him too closely and could see that he was actually wearing quite heavy makeup and something had styled his hair into an artful mess. He smelt of sweat, makeup and shampoo.

"What have you been doing?" I asked in curiosity, drawing back from him slightly so that I could get a clearer look, the thoughts of my betrayal fleeing my mind as he turned and faced me, so that both the masked and unmasked sides of his face were on view. Facing me I could see that his eyes were highlighted with pale eye shadow, lined with kohl and foundation blended into his face. Whilst he sometimes wore accentuated his eyes with kohl on stage, I had never seen him with such obvious makeup on before and found it unnerving.

"I have been poked, prodded, made up, changed clothes several times, had my face casted and been fussed over all day. It's been...unpleasant." His voice rose in volume and I could hear the agitation as the tone changed. "They dropped the face casting on me as a surprise, because if I had known it never would have happened! It left me feeling bloody claustrophobic all day. In fact..." he pulled his mask off his face and tossed it onto the coffee table. "God, that is much better!" Actions done he took another swig of his beer and flopped back against the cushions again, watching me and the way I was regarding him.

"Face casting?" Curiosity made me ask.

"Aye," he took another long swallow of his drink and he went onto explain in some detail how they had stripped off his top, wrapped his hair in a plastic cap and covered his features with a special liquid goo that dried hard on his face and head, creating a totally correct anatomical mould of his features, scar and all.

"But why did they need to do that?" I asked, slightly disgusted by the process he had explained. It sounded horrifically claustrophobic to me and I was glad that I had not been there to observe the process. "You have your masks and they fit fine. Why do you need new ones?"

"Oh because that's the great bit," he said with sarcasm. "Part of this whole new image makeover thing was deciding who we were, what roles we played in the band. Who would speak up, who would say little. What we wanted the press to know and what was to remain silent and confidential. For instance, Jim does not want the world to know that he is a member of the peerage – therefore in all cases he is referred to as Jim McCullough and nothing else. Sandy had no desire for everyone to know that he is a twin and Angus gets so tongue tied that he doesn't really want to be spokesperson for the band. That sort of thing."

"And what about Richard Stewart?" I asked fixing him with a beady eye, too clued up on how he wriggled out of speaking about his emotions, to let him escape talking about himself. "What does he want or not want?"

"Richard Stewart doesn't exist anymore," he said slowly with a degree of annoyance and frustration in his voice. He took a long swallow of his beer, glaring at the bottle when it failed to yield anymore and cast it onto the table. "I am now to be known as 'Phantom'!" I bit my lip, caught between an immature snigger and a burning desire to know more about this statement.

"Melodramatic maybe?" I murmured, trying to find the balance between a sympathetic tone and keeping the conversation light. "Why Phantom? Okay stupid question, obviously," I gestured to the mask on the table. "But why can't you continue to be Richard Stewart who chooses to wear a mask in his eccentric way?"

"Because there is so much about my background that I don't wish to be revealed, least of which is my face, why I choose to wear a mask and how it came to be the way it is. He ran an agitated hand over the lumpy scar tissue on his face, rubbing the eye which was no doubt blurring with tiredness. And if I keep my name then it won't be very difficult for some two bit reporter to look up the old stories in the papers and bring the whole thing to light again. I don't want the world at large to know that my mother was murdered!" As always the pitch of his voice rose when he spoke about his past. "Therefore they- we, came to the decision that the best way around it was to create an almost new character and that was to be me."

"So you are to be known as Phantom now as a stage name?" Like 'The Edge' from U2?

"Exactly and the masks can add an air of mystery like the makeup 'Kiss' use to wear. It can actually become part of the whole set up. But as a result I cannot be seen without them, never - if there is a chance of any fans seeing me, a photo being taken backstage. Not really a problem, but it was pointed out that it could become uncomfortable and they were going to create specially designed light masks for me to wear that would be comfortable and...Oh shit I don't know Izzy! You are right; it all seems far too melodramatic. You know I once said that I chose to wear the mask – well I know wonder if the mask is going to start wearing me."

I pulled a face in thoughtful support, not quite sure what to say to this, not a situation I had any experience in. "This is always assuming that the album is released, you become famous and end up having nubile young teenagers hanging on your every word!" I glanced at him with amusement, seeing his eyes light up at the thought before hitting him on the knee. "Richard!" I admonished with a laugh.

"You used the world nubile and knowing my luck I will be surrounded by ageing men, desperate to regain their youth and hair through our music." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"And of course all this assume that this album will become a huge hit. There is the possibility that it will crash and burn and Cluinn will sink without a trace." I pointed out practically, running a hand absentmindedly through his styled hair, so that it stuck up.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence, Iz," he said lifting a hand to his head; feeling what I had done and pulling a face. "They even dyed my hair you know!" he said, pushing the locks back down with the palm of his hand, the efforts not improving the style. "They said it had too much red in it and I couldn't be a brooding Phantom with red hair, so they made it darker."

"You've been perfectly brooding whatever your hair colour up to this point and it's not red, only red highlights when you stand in the sun," I snorted, realising how thorough this image creation had been. I could understand my boyfriend's frustration for it did seem that they wanted to strip him of everything that made him the person he was and simply become a creation of the band – two dimensional in his character. I sought to give him reassurance. "And you don't have to worry you know. You will always be Richard Stewart to me." A smile graced his lips and he leaned forwarded and kissed me on the lips.

"Iz that is just what I needed to hear. As long as I have you cheering me on from the sidelines, I think I can go on this crazy journey!" He sighed and took his feet off the table, so they landed on the floor with a thud. "I am just going to grab a shower and wash all this stuff off me." He stood up and then paused. "Wanna' join me?" There was a wicked note in his voice and I knew exactly where his intentions lay.

"No thanks, I don't think I have the energy you randy whatsit, just go and get washed and then do you want something to eat or shall we go out?" In truth I wanted a moment to myself, needed to think about what had happened today and reconcile these two sides of my life that were on a collision course. As I heard him go into the bathroom and the water running, I took weary steps towards the bedroom, sitting at my dressing table and pulling my hair down, feeling the tingle in my scalp as circulation was restored. Tomorrow I needed to hand in my notice and hope that Tatty's offer was genuine, or I would have to once again take up a less then desirable job. Except my hand stilled and I suddenly remembered that I hadn't had an opportunity to question Ric about Fiona's statement.

Grabbing another couple of bottles from the carrier bag on the table, I shucked the lids off, taking them through to the bathroom, hoping that Richard hadn't locked the door; even though I could force my way in. I had stopped bothering with the fairly pointless action several months ago, but not totally sure if he did the same. As luck turned out he hadn't and I walked in, watching him standing under the spray of water, his head tilted back; eyes closed as the jet ran down his body in rivulets, tracing a path across his skin. His hair snaked over his shoulders slightly, and my greedy gaze drunk in his body as I rarely saw him totally naked in full daylight.

He had lost weight since I had first known him, the result of far too much hard work and not enough relaxation. But he still had nicely muscled biceps and arms that disappeared into a flat stomach, the ribs standing out slightly against his leanness. His legs were long and muscular and as he stood there, feet apart glorying in the water I felt the familiar thrill run through me.

But it wasn't sex I wanted; so instead I tapped on the glass and when he opened his eyes I proffered the open bottle at him. He stuck his head around the end of the screen. "Beer in the shower! Are you sure you don't want to strip off and join me and then my fantasy will be complete?"

"No", I shook my head took a drink from my bottle, feeling the light hoppy taste slide down my throat as I sunk onto the bathroom floor, "You know Ric, there is another reason I went down to Surrey today," I smiled as I watched him take a swig of beer, balancing it on the side of the tub as he soaped himself down. He didn't say anything so I continued. "Last week, Fiona said some things that; well she insinuated that you had spoken with her and made it sound like, she propositioned you. I think she was just trying to wind me up but she is out to make my life difficult and I am looking for a new job. Ralph's sister is trying to get me into her PR firm and so it was a sort of informal interview and.." the words sounded hollow to my ears and slightly silly when I repeated them.

"Izzy," the soft Scottish voice floated from above and I looked up to see my boyfriend leaning around the shower screen. "She called me, aye – has my number from when we did the concert."

"Oh!"

"But the whole conversation lasted no more then thirty seconds – I had and still have no intention of speaking to her. I told you before Izzy, she is a snake. Do you really think I would be taken in with what she says?"

"Well, no," I let out a trembling breath. "But at the same time, I was feeling low and you weren't here and I can't stay at that company. I'm gonna' hand my notice in tomorrow in fact."

"Come here," he climbed out the tub and held out a damp hand pulling me to my feet, so that I feel against his damp body, which automatically reacted by getting excited. "I am proud of you Iz, proud that I can call you my girlfriend – there are not many women who would put up with me and my mood swings and all that shit that seems to follow me around. I fear it's going to get worse before it gets better, but I know you'll stand by me and sometimes that is the only thing that gives me the strength to continue on this crazy path I am walking."

His words were meant to inspire and encourage, instead they filled me with guilt as I thought of that stolen kiss with Ralph. But I pushed my remorse deep inside myself, wrapping it up with steel bands so that it couldn't escape. This wasn't the time or place to start remonstrating with myself after what had been an innocent and one sided action. "Well, ditto. I can say the same for you – on many levels – the moodiness aside obviously, but you sing a rather good tune, make a bloody good cup of tea and even make the bed sometimes – what more can I ask for?" He gave a snort at my list.

"So can I ask one more favour of you then?" he asked, stepping back and towelling himself off, before wrapping it around his waist, grabbing his beer and strolling back to the bedroom. I followed, my eyes fixed on his back, watching the smooth skin slid over muscle as he walked, feeling lightly muzzy from the beer I was drinking and getting more amiable by the minute as the thought of my actions of earlier receded and my whole being was focused on Richard.

"Mmm, does it involve me taking all my clothes off and lying down on the bed?" The idea was starting to have some appeal. He let out a lust filled laugh.

"Don't tempt me! I was going to say, as it's getting late – would you come to the studios with me and sing; just you and me, none of the boys. Record 'Broken' with me?" That was not the request I had been expecting and I blanched slightly at the thought.

"Why?" I asked warily, a chill sliding down my spine and replacing the soft glow that had been building in the base of my body.

"I want it on the album as a special. It isn't going to be released, it won't be broadcast; but it has such meaning for me, even more so now and I just want to get it down with you voice. I know you didn't want to sing the other night and I agree that it is intimidating when you have Angus, Sandy, Jim, Devlin and all the sound engineers hanging on your every note. But if we go now, it will be you, me and a techie – that's it."

"Are you sure?" The thought still made me tremble, but if it were to be Ric and I alone, then it would hopefully be no different to all the other times we had practiced together. "I feel very out of tune."

"It's like riding a bicycle," Richard promised. "And I heard you singing in the kitchen this morning, you sounded in perfect voice."

"Hmm - thank you," the words came out jilted as I tried to take in the compliment he paid me in a back handed sound of way. "I was just messing around, not like recording."

"Seriously Iz, it's easy because you can sing it as many times as you want and the good parts from every take can be spliced together. If needs be, then a single word can come from each attempt – not that I would recommend trying it that way." He had moved across to the bed as he coaxed me, pulling his pants and jeans on, sliding a t-shirt over his body, so that I was no longer distracted by the sight of so much naked flesh – obviously my suggestion was out of the question now he was dressed again.

"Wouldn't you rather just go to bed and make mad passionate love? I bargained hopefully, causing him to laugh long and low.

"Without a doubt, but I am hoping we can get both in. Come on, it's nearly seven, no time to loose.

Which was how I found myself in a recording studio late on a Sunday evening, in a sound booth, a pair of headphones clamped to my ears and Richard standing outside, an encouraging smile on his face. My body shook as I heard the music coming through the 'cans' (as Richard had called them) and my voice cracked slightly as I started, the words catching on my tongue and I shook my head in mute despair. It wasn't going to work! He came into the booth and stood hands on his hips, looking at me with a straight face, before running his thumbs under my eyes to catch the tears of frustration that had leaked out. "I can't do it Ric," I muttered. "It's too false".

"There's no such word as can't," he rejoined in a soft tone. "Izzy, you stood up on stage and sung this in front of two hundred people. This is just you and me. Let's try it again – just look at me if it helps. Do you want me to sing with you?" I nodded and he sighed. "From the top Jono," he spoke, the microphone to the mixing desk picking up on our conversation and then with a brief peck on the lips he went and stood the other side of the glass again.

This time he stood there, looking for all intents and purposes like he was singing and I relaxed slightly, smiling at how silly he looked, his voice coming through the earphones, but his body leaning against a window; his lips moving silently as he cued me in with my start. This time I picked up the beat perfectly, my voice soaring up and down the octaves, dueting with him in my mind, if not in reality. I closed my eyes as I sung; imagining all the times we had rehearsed this song together; dredging up the loneliness I had felt when he had returned to Glasgow without me and let all my emotions pour into the music. It felt as if I were flying; for it was nothing more then his voice and mine, swooping and clashing together. When the music came to an end and I opened my eyes, I was almost surprised to see the room around me – so far away had my imagination carried me.

He was still pressed against the window, his face resting against the arm he was leaning on, his entire being focused on me and my singing and I realised that he had also let himself drift away, for the expression on his face was as if he were waking up. With an economical movement he pressed himself away and came into the booth, pushing the earphones off my head and grasping my head in his hands, planting a long deep kiss on my lips. "Perfect Izzy, totally perfect," he whispered against my lips as he finally pulled away. "Can you do it one more time so that we can have some contrast to balance with and then we can go home and carry out your suggestion?" I nodded, breathless with the singing and his suggestion. I had forgotten how erotic it was to sing with him, merge our voices together and once again I presented a clean run through.

The music stored on file and ready to be mastered with the other songs, we treated ourselves to a taxi back to the house, cuddled together on the deep backseat as it wound itself back down the emptying streets to South West London. "Is that it then, have you recorded them all?" I asked and he replied with a nod – the street lights sliding across his flesh coloured domino in stripes.

"They just need to be cleaned up, mixed and sorted and then..." He shrugged and flashed a smile at me. "We've set the release date for the 2nd May."

"Isn't that before you exam – I thought you wanted to wait until afterwards?" He let out a sigh.

"The festival season starts in June and we need to have some presence before then, the public need some awareness of who we are and unless the album is out then we are just another tinpot band in a very large ocean of music. I will just have to juggle it all for a couple of weeks, take the exam and then we go almost straight off to One Big Weekend, which is our first festival before coming home, practicing for Isle of Wight and Glasto, back from there – have my viva on my research findings and off home for T in the Park. And then I literally have two days to get my dissertation in, if I haven't been organised to get it in before then – which I hope I will and then...." He blew air through his cheeks as if he couldn't think beyond the end of August, which to be honest I couldn't. It seemed manic enough to think that he would be away most weekends.

"Will you be staying at these festivals overnight?" His shrug was lost in the gloom, but I felt it.

"Possibly Glastonbury, but no not really, they want you in, on and gone as quickly as possible. I might at most stay in a nearby travel lodge. I have only ever gone to T in the Park myself and it might be fun!" He snorted slightly. "Or I might be so exhausted and in want of a proper bed and you by my side..." His words trailed off and moments later I felt his lips press against my neck, tickling my ear as he ran a lazy tongue around its exterior. "So, do you still feel like taking off all your clothes and lying naked on the bed then?"

I giggled in return and answered him identically. "Yes Phantom – I do!"


	28. Chapter 28

**I am sorry this update has been a little longer in coming - have been away. I hope you enjoy this and please review!**

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Needless to say Fiona did not take my resignation well and it was accepted with tight lipped fury. I was given one hour to clear my desk and say my goodbyes before being escorted off the premises to see my notice out on garden leave.

It had left me with two weeks to enjoy myself, unable to take up the job offer that Tatty had offered me until I had finished my official tenure with Farrow and Faith. Therefore I wiled away two weeks, enjoying having little to do and plenty of time to do it in. It took over a week to slow my pace of life down and enjoy taking things at an easier pace, but I started to enjoy it.

I sat in a local coffee shop in the spring sunshine, drinking a latte whilst people watching; reminded of my first meeting with Richard; as I listened to a busker wailing in a doorway down the road. What a contrast to my boyfriend who was now on the cusp of stardom; the album due to be released in the next few weeks. My ears pricked up as the music that was pouring out of the cafe speakers changed and a song I knew started to play.

I looked around in astonishment, not associating the words that I wanted to sing with the music being played on the radio. Ric's voice floated out over the tables, the tone and tenor being picked up by the airy acoustics, with the guitar riffs pounding through. Unfortunately I did not hear the DJ's words as the song came to an end and was none the wiser about any comments she made, but it was the first time I heard any of their music being played on the radio and it left me feeling confused and slightly out of place. It had started, the whole machine in the countdown to the album being released.

It unnerved me enough that I hastily paid for my coffee and hurried back home; needing the sanctuary of my four walls to regroup and think about what was happening. Ric was not there – unsurprisingly. He bounced between lectures, the library and whatever PR stunt had been planned for the day. He somehow timetabled himself through the chaos and still had enough time to sit with me in an evening and talk about his plans and hopes.

A week ago he had returned carrying a large box that resembled a women's vanity case. I quirked an eyebrow as he elbowed open the door and walked in putting the box down on the dining room table with a sigh. "Come and look," he said with a flick of his hand, indicating that I should join him, rather then lean over the back of the sofa.

"What is it?" Curiosity drew me over and he wrapped an arm around my waist, drawing me into his side. He flicked the lid opened and there staring up at me was a small thin white mask. It looked fragile in its delicacy and I found myself touching it with the gentlest of my prods; scared that any stronger movement would break it.

An unamused snort emerged from above my head and I glanced up to see Richard's face screwed up. "You can touch it – they are going to be stuck to my face, not kept behind glass." He leant over and pulled out a tray revealing more masks below to suit a series of occasions or moods. A black half mask that had a sharp cheekbone merged into it, but covered him from hairline to jaw came out next, followed by an off-white domino that seemed to almost sneer at the looker. A bright red full face that left only the barest gap for lips had a devil like intensity whilst there was another that aped the porcelain face of a doll, a fine web of cracks covering the surface. At the bottom was the smallest and lightest of all the coverings, simple and flesh coloured it was small enough to cover the main disfigurement whilst being almost invisible if worn with makeup.

"A full arsenal of coverings and identities, although they forgot the fake moustaches and beetle eyebrows. Shall I call you Inspector Cluso?" He gave something that might have passed for a laugh and I smiled. Humour was always the best weapon when I was called upon to pull him out of a slide into melancholy.

"No, just Phantom."

"I absolutely refuse to do that!" My words came out impassioned and I leant over, flipping the lid down on the box. "If that is what they want the public at large to call you then so be it, but you are Richard Stewart and that is what you will always be to me, not some strange masked thing that the publicity department have created."

"Thing?" He raised an eyebrow, looking askance at me.

"Okay, not thing – I didn't mean that," I back pedalled realising that in my impassioned moment I may have given offence. "But I don't like the way that they want you to be this person that has no substance; no past and no real future. It is almost as if they put you in a box and get you out only to perform!" He laughed then, deep and throaty.

"No, I just have a secret identity that is all. By day I am the Phantom, by night the mild mannered me." He brushed his lips against mine and then picked the box off the table, putting it in the spare room that was slowly filling up with a variety of different clothes and costumes that were pressed upon him and the rest of the group as their persona was created and managed.

"Dare I ask if your mild mannered self is around tonight?" I asked as he came back into the living room, watching as he gathered books that seemed dotted around the flat, stuffing them into his bag. He shook his head in the negative as he moved past me, humming slightly under his breath.

"Nope, we are travelling to the film studios and making a music video for 'Where we Belong.'" He paused shooting me a glance as I stood by the table and he leant against the back of the sofa, his arms full. "Looks like a good storyboard" he mused. "Jim and I liked the way they interpreted the meaning – you know giving up the humdrum of life and letting the music rule." I nodded, knowing the song, having sung it with him at the concert in the hotel. "Sort of having us working at all our boring jobs, filmed very grey and then seeing us move into a concert in the middle of a field and people flocking in their work outfits to see us and everything changes colour. Yeah," he paused. "It should be really good." He moved towards the table and dumped the pile of books on the wood. "But as they want to film it in Scotland, we need to leave tonight as there is so much equipment to take up and stuff. We are filming a bit of it on the Grantham estate."

"Can't you fly? How many people drive up to Scotland?" I tried not to sound demanding, but couldn't keep the tremble out of my voice. He shook his head and took me into my arms.

"We thought a bit of a road trip would help cement the band, get the crew knowing each other; the techies talking and all that. You only learn that on the road crammed together in a coach. And of course it saves money!" He snorted. "They are throwing so much of it at us that I guess they have to recoup it somewhere." I nodded, trying to look enthusiastic and plastered a fake smile on my face.

"No room for one more?" I knew it was a pointless question even as I ask it and watched as he shook his head negatively again.

"Alanya isn't going either," he pointed out pragmatically. "And it is only for forty-eight hours. We need a music video because they are planning on releasing the single in a couple of weeks."

* * *

I thought back to that conversation as I sat in the flat, finding peace in the light dancing over the living room. It would seem that the moment had arrived – the single was out, finding air time on national radio. The push had begun and Cluinn was on a trajectory, hopefully to stardom. The thought caused me to idly flick on the television, skipping between the music channels until I found the music video being played.

As Ric had described, the camera panned in on his face, half of it encased in a grey mask that was as dull and dark as the set around him, built to look like a small cubicle in an office, piled high with paper. I snorted, for it currently resembled the desk in the spare room that was swamped with this text books and dissertation research. I turned my attention back to the video as the frame cut between the band; all similarly filmed in a grey washed lens – Jim as a delivery driver, Angus stocking shelves, Sandy with a clipboard in a warehouse. As the music built, the colour lightened and you could see the band acting as if they had their instruments with them.

Then as the music burst into the bridge and the chorus, the colours flooded onto the screen, the group standing on a stage in a field, grey skies being washed away with a rainbow and a blue sky creeping in. Possibly real, or maybe computer generated it shed light onto the band, highlighting the people streaming towards them; shedding grey faces and turning into a positive crowd dancing up and down to the music being played.

It was a cleverly produced music video, classy and stylish and very gripping. It was a crowd pleasing song, easy to hum, catchy and positive and whilst not the most deep and moving of all of Cluinn's music, not showcasing Ric's voice to it's full potential, it still had a vibe that made the listener want to sing along. I was torn between a huge amount of pride and wistfulness. Ric was no longer going to be mine alone.

* * *

The time it took was minuscule. From the first time I heard the music played in the cafe and watched the video, no more then three weeks passed. Admittedly I was busy learning the ropes of my new job, enjoying working for such a dynamic company and having the support and presence of Tatty who sponsored me along.

The contrast of Taylor Herring to F&F was huge. At my new employers; creativity was given free rein and talent nurtured and rewarded. At first I hung back, so use to the bullying ways of Fiona that I kept my cards close to my chest, but it only took two days before I realised that this was not the way. Given my past accounts, I was immediately put to work on music and media accounts, finding that I knew more about the recording industry then I gave myself credit for. Obviously I had learnt by osmosis, through Jim's monologues and Richard's explanation.

Of course when Tatty happened to innocently let it drop that I shared my flat with the lead singer of the upcoming group that was getting vast amounts of playtime on the radio, the admiration increased and I suddenly found myself the centre of attention, none of it due to my own talent. I tried to brush it off, but the question came thick and fast, quite a lot about the group, even more about the mysterious lead singer. I tried to field them as best I could without giving too much away.

"You should try and get them as an account you know," Tatty said, leaning over to my desk as I skilfully dismissed another enquiry. "You already know so much about them it would be simple."

"Too close to home I think," I commented, knowing that was more truthful then Tatty realised. "If things ever went sour it would be very awkward.

"Yeah, but there are enough people here that you could just hand the account over to someone else," she reasoned pragmatically. "And you could do great things for them. Just drop it in as an innocent comment sometime this weekend." She smiled at me and I flashed her a grin back; glad of her support and suggestions. "And speaking of this weekend, are you doing anything?"

I shrugged unsure. My life was lived by Richard's calendar, which was full to bursting. We would probably only be able to snatch some time together if he were studying at home. "Not sure."

"Well, if you feel like coming out Saturday night, Ralph and I were going out and you are more then welcome to join us, it could be fun!" I made a non-committal noise; neither accepting nor rejecting the offer; unsure if I wanted to see her brother again.

My footsteps were weary as I dragged myself up the two flights of stairs to the flat; head buzzing with all I had learnt that week; the new information dancing through my brain. My limbs were heavy with the exhaustion of intense concentration and I was feeling in need of some TLC and a healthy dose of sleep, although I doubted if I would be allowed to have either.

Instincts were correct for the hum of voices from my flat were evident, even before I had reached the door. Pushing it open I saw the band and Alanya gathered on the couches, animatedly talking and laughing, a couple of open bottles of wine on the coffee table. It was not unusual to find them all gathered here, over the past four months it had almost become an unofficial headquarters, but somehow this was different. Usually it was no different then having my friends over, they would sit cram onto the sofas, on the floor and we would talk and eat, musing over the bands hits and misses, taking part in the teasing and high jinks that came with them whilst drinking more then our fair share of alcohol.

But something was different. The four men gathered around the table were overdressed, hair styled, clothes pressed. No longer fraying denim, scuffed shoes and holey sweaters they were kitted out in an aggressive manner, Richard wearing the tightest jeans I had ever seen and heavy black boots. Jim's hair had been dyed to a lighter blonde and he was clad in leather trousers and an expensive looking t-shirt. Angus was, for once not in his delivery uniform but resplendent in denim whilst Sandy just flashed me one of his heartbreaking smiles, his blonde hair and good looks highlighted by the black shirt and jeans he was dressed in.

"Hey guys," I greeted them with a little wave as I stood there, my eyes restlessly moving over them, before settling on Alanya. I raised an eyebrow at her, querying the dress code of the men and she flashed me a smile in return. It was the last thing I felt like seeing for it meant that there was no way I would have a quiet personal evening at home. It looked as if going out were on the agenda. My smile faded as I kicked off my shoes, wending my way to the bedroom where I stopped dead and looked at the dress laid out on the bed. Even spread out on the duvet I could tell that it would be short and tight, the absence of a label made me guess that it was a designer piece, no doubt picked out with Alanya's keen eye at Richard's behest. It seemed to fit in with the general flamboyancy of outfits that everyone in the living room was wearing.

However, it was not what I needed that evening, dressed up like a Barbie doll, and assigned the roll of groupie hanger on. I moved over and picked it up with a disdainful finger; my face pulled into a sneer to show my distaste. The noise in the doorway alerted me to the presence of someone else in the room. "I'm not wearing this," I said without turning around, flinging the fabric onto the bed where it landed in a pool.

"It's Dolce and Gabbana," the voice said behind me, although I gave a start for the tones were feminine. It wasn't Richard, but Alanya. "I thought it would suit you, fun and flirty, but still with a degree of practicality." She tripped over to my side and stood next to me, both of us looking at the crumpled heap of fabric on the bed. "Aren't you in the mood?"

"Mood for what exactly?" I asked with a snap in my voice, pushing my hair off my forehead. Even though it was April, the weather had suddenly decided to pretend that it was summer and I could add sweaty and hot to my list of ailments.

"The launch party. Didn't Ric tell you? Oh my god," she shook her head. "He couldn't remember if he did or not – okay." She paused and looked around her slightly desperately. "Shit!" The word was muttered under her breath, but I sensed that she had been sent in to wave the white flag and her words had betrayed her. I closed my eyes in exasperation, gathering my hair into a ponytail and piling it on top of my head with a clip, attempting to let a cool breeze blow on the back of my neck.

"Laney, please go and get Ric for me. I just want a quick word – in private. I," I paused wondering if I should say more, but decided against it. "Please get him." Her footsteps hurried off either eager to please, or happy to be out of the lion's den and it was only seconds later that the heavy tread of Richard's ridiculous boots sounded on the wooden floor. "You are going to get ankle strain wearing those things," I muttered with a sneer, directing my anger at his footwear.

"You don't like the dress," was his opening line, his voice sounding weary. It made me glance up and look at him, truly taking in his appearance for the first time and realising that the man opposite me was the 'Phantom' and not my boyfriend. As I had noticed before, his black jeans were as tight as they could be, hugging his long lean legs which ended in a pair of boots that would have given Elton John a run for his money with their gothic flamboyancy – heavy soled; covered in buckles and chains and coming up to mid calf. The t-shirt he wore was artfully ripped and layered with thin grey cloth that clung to the top half of his body, highlighting his lean but muscular form with more black. His face was encased in a black mask that looked as if flames were licking up one side of his face, leaving the other with his skin on view. The effect was creepy and spectacular at the same time, I didn't want to look, but couldn't tear my gaze away.

Wordlessly I walked over and curled my fingers under the mask, wanting to rip it off, to view his whole face and see my boyfriend under the makeup and styling, except he pulled away. "Oww, shit Izzy," he muttered as my fingers caught the edge of the light fragile plastic. "It's glued on; you can't just pull it off like that!"

"I take it there is a reason you are dressed as such," I gesticulated to his clothes as I took a step back, unable to read his mood, not sure how far I could push him and if he would be the loving forgiving man I knew existed or the sarcastic, cynical person who shadowed him.

"It's the album launch party tonight – starts in just over two hours. I thought I told you - would swear blind that I did. Obviously not, for which, I apologise. But unless you get dressed now I am going to have to leave without you and I have kept the guys hanging around just so you could come with us." He closed his eyes and I noticed that his eyelids were painted black. When he opened them I realised the skilful makeup highlighted the intense blue of their colour. "So sulk all you want, but let me know your decision. Alanya picked out the dress because she wanted you to have something nice to wear, nothing to do with me as I think you look beautiful in a bin bag. Now yes you will come and I will go and get Laney or no and I will go. What is it?" He spoke quickly and succinctly as if he were presenting evidence and I realised he was waiting for an answer. My nod came hesitantly, but it geared him into action and he swept around, calling our friend's name to come and help me get ready.

Half an hour later we crammed into the back of a limo, out of place and too large for the small busy roads of London as we wended our way to the club where the launch was being held. Under the railway, the room had magnificent brick arches supporting the ceiling, coloured spots casting pools all over the floor and the stage that had been set up at one end. I felt neglected as Ric had said little to me all the way over, holding my hand in a distracted fashion, but choosing to remain mainly silent, any remarks made to the whole group.

As soon as we walked in, the band was surrounded and whisked off leaving Alanya and I standing in a corner, trying to be inconspicuous. It wasn't difficult, for people barely gave us a second glance, intent on their jobs as they hurried about like worker ants; the setting up time coming to a end with people frantically running around finishing up their various tasks. Within moments the repetitive noise of the sound checks floated across the speakers and I exchanged a glance with my companion.

"Why do they always say 'one-two and testing'? You think they would come up with something more original," Alanya commented, echoing my thoughts. She heaved a sigh. "Let's go and find something to drink." The bar tender was busy polishing glasses, but still poured us two glasses of wine and we found an free corner and sat sipping as all around us controlled chaos reigned. The band were still busy, pausing for photographs and interviews and I realised that it would be like this for most of the evening, an awful lot of hanging around.

"I don't think you will get to see him much tonight," Alanya commented, noting the direction of my gaze as I watched them pose for the camera. "He's not yours exclusively anymore Izzy."

"He never was mine exclusively. Not Ric," I sighed, although jumped as I felt a hand placed heavily on my shoulder. Repressing the urge to shriek I spun around and saw Devlin Summers smiling at me.

"He's Phantom now Isabella, remember that," he said, his tone serious even though the words were delivered with a smile. "Not your Ric anymore; keep that for the bedroom and your private lives – but in public he's 'Phantom." He must have caught my scowl for he added more lightly. "Although the crew seem to call him Tom or Phants, if that is better!" I resisted the urge to pull a face, showing my disagreement with the marketing of my boyfriend and instead remained silent, letting my neutral facial expression speak louder then anything I could have said. Obviously Devlin took my silence for compliance as he nodded all smiles. "Now why don't you girls go and get some photos taken as well, just for you, as this is going to be a night to remember. He steered us off in the direction of the band, who were being directed into poses, calmly complying with the requests and I was struck at the maturity of how they handled it all. Weren't all rock stars suppose to be swearing drunken yobs?

"Girls, go and snuggle up," Devlin instructed and I reluctantly took a couple of steps towards Richard, my eyes roving over the dark figure he made, for once uncomfortable with his appearance and unsure how to treat him. Alanya had no such problem; use to the camera she had expertly draped herself across Jim, the photographer loving the poses and rushing to get a series of shots of just the two of them. It gave me a chance to talk.

"It's going to be a mad night," Ric said quietly, sensing my unease and taking my hand in his, although his gaze roamed across the space. "Can't quite believe this is really happening, I keep expecting to wake up with an overdue essay to finish."

"Well it is," I replied softly. "Don't think we are going to get much time together tonight though." He nodded in agreement.

"If you get tired, just grab a cab home. I have no idea what time this madness will end. We can talk tomorrow." He lifted his hand to my face, running his knuckles softly down my cheek, starring into my eyes so that for a brief moment it was only him and I, the noise and bustle of everything around us vanishing. "I love you Izzy," he added his words the barest of murmurs as he leant over and kissed me on the lips.

"That is fantastic, keep it up," the words of the photographer broke our bubble and we drew apart, looking at him with shocked expressions. He smiled and moved forwards, flipping his camera around and showing me the picture that he had captured. I had not been aware that he was shooting photographs of us, rather then Alanya and Jim, but there we were, the heat of the moment caught as a picture, the desperation in my eyes, the intensity in Richard's – it took my breath away, especially as he had caught Ric at such an angle that only the barest edge of his mask was visible, mainly the uncovered half of his face in view.

"Can I get a copy of that?" I queried, taken in by the picture.

"Sure," he nodded. "I'll be putting them up on my website, here you go." He fished his card out the pocket and handed it to me. "You guys have a real energy and connection between you, glad I was able to capture that." He nodded and turned his attention away and I noticed that Ric had once again been commandeered. With a sigh I put the card in my bag and waited for the party to get started.

Even I had to admit it was impressive when the building was filled and the lights dimmed. It seemed that the great and good of the music world had been invited, for I recognised DJs from radio stations, presenters from television and what could only have been other promoters and agents. Every swanned around, happily lubricated by the bar which was doing overtime with cocktails and beer. The group were noticeably absent, having been shushed away as the guests started to arrive and it was only as the party was in full swing that the band were announced.

The lights were dimmed and Richard's voice echoed through the smoke of the dry ice, haunting in its melody when accompanied by the gentlest touch of strings on the guitar, the music building behind him as he sang; the intensity sending shivers down my spine. The riffs became heavier, the drums and base kicked in and suddenly the band burst into light, giving their all into the performance. From my vantage point near the back, I could suddenly see how effective Richard's costume was, for what seemed overtop close up, made for a striking figure on stage, more so when flanked by the other band members whose choice of clothes seemed to echo the lead singer's.

I found myself silently mouthing the words as they sang, realising that I knew them from the time I had spent practicing with the band, in preparation for the concert last year. The song was difficult changing key and pitch constantly; asking the singer to belt out some notes and practically whisper others. However it was catchy and showy and I could see people around me tapping their feet and nodding in time to the music as the band sung and played their heart and soul out on the stage.

They sung four songs, enough to get the crowd excited by the style and intensity of the music, but not long enough for people to get bored or for all the songs on the album to be played. I resolutely stayed at the back, knowing that the house lights by the exit let Richard see me, hoping that I could be a focus if he needed one, even if the green of the exit sign gave my skin a sickly pallor. As he sung the closing bars of the final song, holding the final notes in a single powerful chord the crowd burst out with cheering and applause and the stage was plunged into darkness once again. The end of the concert and the start of the band's work.

Part of me wanted desperately wanted to go and claim Ric as mine; hang off his arm; simper and smile as several plastic women were doing with their partners tonight. Show the public at large that he was mine and not on the open market. The other half preached reason, temperance with my behaviour. This was his moment and I could not be part of it. I was Ric's girlfriend, not the 'Phantom's'; this was not my moment to appear. I hesitated a moment longer and then made my decision – it was time to leave.

"Excuse me ladies and gentlemen," I stopped as the voice sounded over the speakers, pausing in my tracks and turning to look at the stage as most other people were. There standing up above the crowds was Jim, a broad smile on his face as he spoke into the microphone. "Sorry for interrupting your evening," he continued, ever the gentlemen. "But I just wanted to share something with all of you. I have just asked the gorgeous Alanya Palmer to be marry me and she has agreed." His voice was filled with such glee and enthusiasm that everyone could not help but me caught up in his joy and cheers and applause followed his announcement. He held out a hand and drew Alanya up on stage with him, where she stood, blushing gracefully and looking generally beautiful. It was a moment of happiness and total PR opportunity as the crowd got behind the good looking man and his beautiful affianced. It was an album launch that would not be forgotten quickly.

My eyes automatically searched out Richard, wanting his company and viewpoint on the matter, but despite settling on him across the crowded room and exchanging a glance it was not my turn to hog the limelight. I knew that I was not due such declarations, after all Ric and I had only been together a few months, but in the face of such publicly stated love I still wanted his presence.

Turning on my heel I slide out the busy crowded party to go home and wait. It seemed the best thing to do for I knew my Phantom would return to me.


	29. Chapter 29

**A nice long chapter to make up for the wait on the last one. C'mon please review and I may create a present for you all! Pips **

Chapter Twenty-Nine

As soon as I woke up, I knew I was alone. Actually it was as I began to surface that I became aware that the bed next to me was empty – the same way it had been last night when I had fallen asleep, flat and straight, the sheets flat and cool. It was still the same way now; I had spent the night by myself.

Squinting at the clock I realised that it was pushing nine, obviously my exhaustion had made me have a deep long sleep and I should have felt refreshed and raring to go. Instead I was ill at ease after last night, seeing Cluinn perform for I knew it signified the end of the nice safe little nest I had built for myself and the start of something entirely different. I liked to fool myself that I was a flexible happy-go-lucky person who embraced change and chance, but in truth; I craved security. I wanted to know that my boyfriend would wander through the door every evening at the same time; wished that he could come home to a charming domestic setup, possibly with a dog and a small child playing around my feet as I cooked up something delicious in the kitchen. I suppose it wasn't that different to how I remembered my childhood.

Instead I had managed to fall in love with a man whose life was as changeable as his moods were volatile, who claimed to love me and often showed that he did, but who was not willing to stop his crusade to support my dreams. There was never going to be peace and stability with Ric, in my heart of hearts I knew that – unfortunately the very same organ had also decided to go and attach itself to him and I knew that I would rather be happy with the life he offered me; then be without him.

The thought uppermost in my mind, I found the strength to mentally brace my shoulders and slide out of bed, flinging open the curtains onto another beautiful spring day. I could not fathom any other noise in the flat and a quick survey of Richard's bedroom next door did not reveal him to be there. However the duvet was creased and his clothes of last night sat in a heap in the corner, alongside the ridiculous boots. He had come home at least; I reasoned pragmatically sleeping in his room to avoid waking me.

The washing in my arms I went into the living room and saw that he had already woken, the curtains were open; a textbook languished on the table alongside a scrawled note informing me that he had gone to the library to study and hoped to be back at about two o'clock. Great, the morning to myself, I grimaced.

Yet, it did allow me time to wander the shops and find an engagement present for Alanya and Jim, given the announcement made last night. As I strolled down the King's road towards Sloane Square I mused over the situation, wondering if that had added to my unease of last night. I didn't expect any marriage proposals from Richard; to be honest didn't really want them at this stage of his life, for it would not change the manic way he surfed through his days. And if I was truthful with myself, we had only really been calling ourselves partners for four months – we were not in a position to join ourselves together for life.

But I still envied Alanya and her good fortune in finding a man who loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her. I was aware that Jim was probably not the easiest person to live with, a couple of comments she had made attested to it. But they loved each other, had been together for years and I craved the same sort of intimacy and coupling as their relationship. The joy she must feel having a ring on her finger; a sign of the pledge that they were there for each other.

It was difficult to know what to buy such a couple. I had only been around to their flat a few times and was amazed at the blandness of it. Alanya secretly admitted that she was too busy to spend much attention making it a homely place. It bucked at my very nature and I vaguely had the idea of giving them something to help them make their flat a true home.

It was actually a pleasant way to go shopping, strolling down one of the best retail streets in London, gazing in the windows and strolling around the stores with a vague idea of what to buy. The sun shone which always put the people of London in a good mood. Most of the year they scurried around, avoiding eye contact and communication – hurrying between shops; meetings and appointments, all with the minimum of inconvenience to their lives. But when the sun shone suddenly everyone slowed down, smiles brightened the faces of normally sour London people and for a few hours or days (depending on how long the sun shone for) it was a much cheerier city.

I loved browsing through the shops on the road, examining photo frames and crystal vases as I went, rejecting different scented candles and pictures and fussing over cushions and cups. It was a pleasant way to while away a morning and actually much easier to do it without a man, for in my experience it was exactly the sort of shopping that the opposite sex detested. It took me over two hours to work my way down the length of the street, wandering through Hobbs, mulling over gifts in Graham & Greene and being seduced into the homey prints at Cath Kidston. Of course it was easy to be distracted by the joys of L K Bennett and I very nearly blew the present budget on a pair of beautiful sandals that called to me through the window; but managed to stop and gain control of myself.

In this way I manage to walk almost the entire length of the street and over two hours later still had nothing to give the happy couple. I could see Peter Jones looming in the distance, the bastion of civilised taste and decided to try my luck in there. More successfully I had managed to prevent myself from moping over my boyfriend for a whole morning – much easier then staying at home and waiting for him to return.

A suitable present purchased (crystal vase – unoriginal, but always useful) I wandered around Sloane Square towards the tube, reluctant to return to the flat straight away for I did not want the silence of my relationship echoed back at me. Instead I dallied outside shop windows; greedily drinking in the beautiful perfume and jewellery they had on display, pretending that I could afford to waste my money on such fripperies. My eyes grazed over the charm bracelets and silver gifts in the jewellers and I realised what I was looking for without even being aware. I was subconsciously searching out the rings, thinking about what I would choose. I am sure Jim and Alanya were, even now probably purchasing some huge diamond rock over in Hatton Gardens.

Disgusted at myself I turned away; chastising my subconscious for having such an unpractical romantic streak. This was not what I wanted, I counselled myself, not what I needed. I stalked past the tasteful displays in the window, quite ready to return home when my eye caught something. There in the last display cubicle was a collection of silver and cloth bracelets. 'Friendship bracelets' the sign claimed, although they were a far cry from the knotted cotton creations of my youth. Instead these were carefully crafted silk wound around a series of silver pegs, creating a masculine and modern piece of jewellery.

I hesitated and bit my lip, my eyes honing in on the three figured price that was subtly displayed near the jewellery. Richard was my friend – the bracelets were funky enough that he would wear them and I would feel a little bit better, knowing that he carried something of mine with him; something that was tangible, rather then empty declarations. Before I could dally any longer I swept into the store and purchased one, engraving the small disk that adjusted the size; with our initials.

The flat was cool and silent when I got back, but for once I was glad for my feet were aching and guilt was building a fire in my belly. Hanging over my wrist was the small desirable bag with my purchase in it which had seemed so obvious when I bought it. Now I was not so sure. Ric had never bought anything of such value for me; even his Christmas present had been a pretty scarf. Since I had known him there had been no gifts, cards or small mementoes exchanged. We had not been together for each other's birthdays, but even still he was not easily parted with his money.

I had never asked for rent, never had to suggested he shared in buying consumables for the house as he would automatically share in the shopping; but suddenly spending a large amount of money on such a gift seemed silly. However there was little I could do – the engraving alone meant it could not be returned.

"Hello," his voice sounded husky as he walked in through the door, shutting it with a bang behind him. "Hey, what's that?" I looked up as he walked over and realised that his gaze was focused on the elaborately wrapped box that now sat on the dining room table.

"An engagement present for Alanya and Jim," I replied. "A crystal vase." He smiled and nodded, not commenting as he placed a leisurely arm around my shoulder and I tilted my face up to receive a kiss. His lips grazed mine and it was over – perfunctory and quick.

"That's nice," he called as he wandered off to his bedroom, dumping his bag on the wooden floor so it landed with a thump, attesting to the weight of the contents. "I still can't believe she said yes," he added as he came back and stood next to me again.

"What, you mean? Has Jim asked her before?" I was shocked. In my mind their engagement seemed so right and obvious that it didn't occur to me that Alanya might have previously turned him down.

"Oh yeah, several times! Have you had lunch? D'you want a sandwich?" I blinked at the changed of conversation and nodded; although my forehead was creased in a frown as I followed him into the kitchen.

"How many is several?" I asked, watching as he made us lunch.

"I don't know three – four maybe." His voice was muffled as he looked inside the fridge. "There's no ham left, so it's chicken or tuna." He emerged with the half open can and started to make tuna mayonnaise very messily.

"Whatever," I didn't want to know about the mundanity of the food supply, rather the facts of a relationship I believed to be perfect. "When was this, Jim asking Alanya I mean?"

"Oh, well when they graduated was the first time and then when she signed up with a modelling agency was the second." He paused after he spread the sandwich filling on the bread and licked the fork in an absent minded way. "Third I think was when he moved down to London with her and they got the flat and the band generated a bit of interest and so last night would have been four – and she accepted. She always turned him down before on the basis that he had no plans with his life and she didn't want to live off his parent's largess and take all the trappings that come with it. She wanted him to achieve something. I guess she is satisfied about that now, so she accepted. There," he turned with a flourish two sandwiches on plates which he presented to me with a grin on his face as if he had cooked a three course meal. My eyes dropped to the food he proffered, a dog eared tuna sandwich with shredded lettuce, the kitchen behind him looking as if he had been killing something, not assembling lunch and my mind turned back to our conversation of months ago.

"Carrot or stick?" I queried.

"Carrot please." He knew exactly what I was talking about for the grin widened into a smile.

"It looks a work of art and I am sure will be the best sandwich I have ever eaten!" My words rang insincerely, but it wrenched an addictive laugh out of Richard as we sat down at the table, sitting opposite each other and munching in silence.

"What's in the other bag," he said after he had hovered up the food on his plate and some of mine. He nodded to the smaller parcel and I realised that I had left my gift in full view next to the vase.

"Oh," I blushed and reached out a sneaky hand, drawing it to me and onto my lap. "Nothing!"

"Yeah, sure. What have you been spending your money on now Izzy, show me. It can't be another pair of shoes, the bag is too small!" He leant across the table and grabbed it off my lap with a swift movement and a laugh, dangling it off his fingers and swinging it in front of me. "Links of London, aye?"

"Oh sod it," my sunny mood evaporated with his teasing and I pouted. "It's for you anyway, but I wasn't going to give it to you yet. Still you have it now, so just open it!" I gestured to the small elegant bag, watching the shock flash across his eyes and the smile drop from his mouth at my comment.

"You shouldn't be buying me things Izzy," he said softly as he pushed his plate out of the way and put the bag down in front of him.

"Well," I shivered slightly with the emotion, not sure if he would reject my gift before seeing it, suddenly ashamed of what I had done. "I just wanted you to have something; to remember me when you go off touring and I am stuck back here. And don't worry, it's not cuff links – I don't think you will have much call for those currently. I watched him intently, pretty sure he was frowning, although it was impossible to tell as he wore his flesh coloured domino that hid his forehead. However his mouth was drawn into a line and his eyes fixed on the present as he deftly unknotted the ribbon and pulled out the small box.

"Izzy!" His tone of voice showed delight and joy, chastising at the same time as he pulled the bracelet from the box, holding it up and examining it. "That's fantastic." He turned the small disk over and saw the letters engraved on its surface. "I-F-S, R-I-S," he muttered reading what I had chosen. "How did you know my middle name? And what's yours?"

"You left your driving licence on the dinning room table for over a week; Richard Ian Stewart" My voice came out crisper then I wished, his reaction not being exactly what I had dreamt it would. "And mine is Frances, after my mother!"

"Iz!" His voice was gentle, picking up on my distress as he usually did. He moved over to me and crouched next to my chair, so that our eyes were level. "Put it on me please," he said holding out his wrist. "And I promise not to take it off, like a proper friendship bracelet." He fixed me with a fathomless stare, holding out his left arm and I pulled it tight onto his wrist, above his watch, glad that he accepted the gift. The small task complete, he stood up, pulling me with him and sought my lips, holding my face in his hand and gave me a long drenching kiss, so that my knees melted and I clung to him. "That is the most wonderful and kindest gift anyone has given me," he murmured staring down at it. "Thank you darling!"

"Silly question I know," I added as I came up for air. "Are you busy this evening?" He gave a grimaced and nodded his head; my face falling as I watched the action.

"We are actually at some party, concert thing. I barely have an idea what we are doing one day to the next, just plugged it all into this and when it beeps at me I go where it says!" He pulled an iPhone out of his pocket and scrolled through it. "A present from the Partners when I left the law firm," he explained taking at my bemused glance at the expensive electronics, not part of his student budget. "Here you go, Rock Beast over at the Forum – a chance to witness the newest bands breaking into the world of rock." He read the explanation in a dry voice, making it sound quite ridiculous, rather then the opportunity it was. "Did you want to come?"

"If it's going to be like last night," I paused and watched him carefully. "Would you mind awfully if I said not really? It isn't much fun hanging around with nothing to do and not being allowed to talk to you or see you."

"Devlin have a go at you? Did he stop you from being with me last night?" He demanded, looking up from scrolling through his calendar, his eyes narrowed.

"Not really," I replied slowly, unsure if I should tell him about the name change. "But there was hardly the opportunity to even get near and I don't really want to spoil your image." He looked up at that. "Well I am not blonde and five foot eleven with a small brain and large boobs!" He started to laugh at my description.

"Is that what a rockers girlfriend should be like?" I gave a shrug. "Oh god Izzy, you are so funny at times. He pulled me to him again and kissed me. "If you don't want to come that's fine, I understand." I looked up into his eyes and mused. I don't think he really did.

* * *

He departed a while later, his costume chosen from the bewildering array of clothes that were now in the second bedroom. I found it less awkward then last night, actually helping him create the image he was going to present and we had settled for an old pair of boots, black cotton trousers and a thin grey t-shirt with a print on it. Worn with a simple black half mask it was understated but striking and I thought it would match the music they had chosen to play.

Ric dispatched with another knee weakening kiss, I settled back on the sofa, feeling a little more at peace with myself. I knew that he was disappointed that I did not want to come and hang around back stage but I didn't know how to admit to him that I found his appearance as the Phantom intimidating and Cluinn's rise and frantic push to stardom unsettling.

Now that I had the afternoon and evening to myself, I perversely found myself wishing for company. Not the sort that I would have been offered back stage, but to spend some time with friends simply having fun. Then my phone rang.

After last night I had forgotten about Tatty's offer to come out with her and Ralph, but her bubbly insistence on the other end of the line was hard to refuse and I found myself wandering into the lobby of Claridge's around eight o'clock; where we had agreed to meet.

I saw Ralph first, standing at the bar, smiling his devastating smile and flirting slightly with the girl serving behind. My gaze then slide behind to where I could hear Tatty's strident voice talking over the telephone. "Izzy!" Ralph caught me first, an arm around my waist and a kiss on the cheek – no repetition of how we parted. "Tat is just over there, what would you like to drink?"

"Oh, um, G&T please," I asked in a flurry, caught out with his unassuming friendly manner. 'Blonde Buffoon', Ric's nickname echoed in my head as I took him in my sights, my smile widening with the private joke. Ralph saw the megawatt beam and flashed me one in return; obviously thinking I was flirting.

"Hey Izzy," Tatiana greeted me as I sat down at their table, once again exchanging air kisses. "You look fab!" The Dolce & Gabbana dress had come into use again and I knew it was true. Alanya's sense of style had come to the fore and as it had only had an outing for a few hours last night, I decided to press it into service again. "Glad you dressed up, thought we might hit Annabel's later and they are still ridiculously tight with the dress code." I tried to look nonchalant at the thought of going to the exclusive Mayfair club that was frequented by the rich and famous of London. It was where Fiona Farrow had always wanted to belong – her request for membership was repeatedly turned down. It made me realised how different Tatty and Ralph's life was to the one I lived. Obviously they did work and were both successful in their chosen fields, but they had never known the hard grind, their lives buoyed up by Daddy's money.

"Here you go girls," Ralph came over with the drinks, his fingers brushing mine as he handed me a gin. "Here's to a good evening." His toast must have worked because after a couple of drinks in the hotel we wandered off into the sunlight evening, genially bickering about where to go next and ended up in a bar in Soho knocking back cocktails. It didn't take me long to feel exceedingly light headed, I had not eaten much that day apart from Ric's sloppy sandwich at lunch and a grazing of crudities from the empty fridge at home before I came out. The nibbles that were served with the drinks hardly filled a space and by eleven o'clock I was feeling quite the worse for wear. I wasn't use to the heavy drinking that most of my peer group indulged in at the weekend; the benders that the newspapers proclaimed about didn't often feature in my life.

"Izzy, you okay?" I heard Tatiana's voice come from afar as I sat there, my head spinning, trying to concentrate on the walls around me. I kept tuning out of the conversation, most of the names and facts not relevant and had instead indulged in my constantly filled glass. "Ralph, I think Izzy is a bit out of it, you should take her home."

"Oh, she's okay, aren't you Izzy? We were just going to head over to Annabel's."

"No seriously you bone head; she doesn't look well at all. Be a gentlemen and make sure she's home safely and then come back here – it's not too far." I didn't object to being taken back allowing myself to be hustled from the downstairs Soho bar we had been in and bundled into a taxi, with Ralph. He put a protective arm around me, to stop me from being thrown around on the back seat, laughing slightly as I stiffened before relaxing into his secure hold.

"Don't worry Izzy, you're safe," I heard him whisper in my ear, before moments later his lips grazed my forehead. Panic flared through my body, closely followed by the warmth of seduction. I was attracted to this man; couldn't help it. He was good looking, charming and so far a gentleman. All evening he had pandered to me, opening doors, buying drinks, making conversation and my ego had been stoked by the attentiveness of his behaviour.

"Ralph, I mustn't..." I started, but my pathetic resistance was silenced when his lips came down on mine, kissing them with a leisurely enjoyment. When he drew back I sat there, clasped in his arms, trembling with passion, worry and guilt.

"You are so gorgeous Izzy," he said softly, running his hands through my hair, brushing it back behind my ears gently. Tears welled up in my eyes as alcohol bought my muddled thoughts to the surface and his hand stilled as he watched one run down my cheek. "Hey Izzy, don't cry – I just think you are a bit drunk," he crooned into my ear. "Don't worry, I won't do anything, we are almost home." Relief flooded through my body as we drew up outside and with a few muttered words to the driver Ralph walked me to the door, smiling as I pulled my key out.

"Thank you for taking me home Ralph," I said as politely as I could manage, although my head swam with the beginnings of a vicious hangover.

"Anytime Izzy, hope you feel okay tomorrow, see you soon." He moved in and I braced myself for another kiss, only this time his lips brushed my forehead. He obviously had noticed my vulnerable state and I hesitated as he walked back to the taxi, waving to him as he drove off. I was trembling as I climbed the stairs to my flat, hangover aside I had very nearly succumbed to him again. I could not understand why I could not open my mouth in his presence and tell him that I had a boyfriend. It was clear now that he was chasing me and I had to put a stop to his actions and soon.

A light had been left on in the kitchen as I walked in causing me to frown – as I was convinced that I had left the flat in darkness. Taking off my high heels, I tiptoed across to the bedroom and peered around the door. There curled up in bed was Ric, his arms thrown up around his head in usual pose, fast asleep. He had come home to me and I hadn't been there! As silently as I could I undressed and climbed in next to him, the room spinning with my hangover.

* * *

"Izzy," the rough Scottish burr permeated my dreams and I opened one eye a chink, feeling the weight of a hangover crashing down.

"Euugghh," was the only noise I was able to emit, whilst my mouth was dry as the Sahara and a pneumatic drill was pounding away on my skull. I opened the other eye and nearly recoiled at the sight of Richard's face inches from mine – his indigo gaze boring into mine, eyes narrowed with an unreadable emotion.

"Are you hungover?" I felt his hands close in an iron grip on the top of my arms and the look in his eyes hardened into disgust. "Where the hell were you last night? What were you doing?"

"Invited out," I muttered trying to roll over and escape the blazing stare, which was difficult with his bruising grip. "New work colleagues," I added, trying to cut off any questions before they were asked. He exhaled through his noise; a sound of disgust, but at least he let go of my body and I heard him move through the flat, returning moments later with a large glass of water which he put next to me on the bedside table.

"Painkillers," he pushed two small tablets into my hand and then wordlessly handed me the glass, silently watching as I tried to sip from it without raising my head too much. "Go back to sleep." His voice was gruff with anger as he took the glass from me and strode out the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I gratefully sunk back into slumber, feeling too ill to do much more.

The digital numbers on the clock read past midday when I emerged once more, feeling only mildly sore, rather then with a pounding headache and I slid out of bed, desperately wanting a shower. "Ric?" I walked out of the bedroom, hearing nothing and wondered if he was still in, if his presence that morning had simply been a figment of my imagination. I couldn't hear or see him and so lumbered to the bathroom and climbed into the shower, reviving myself under the hot spray as I lavished my exotic detoxifying shower gel over my body, scrubbing away the smell and taste of the alcohol and trying to purge myself of the nagging guilt that sat in my conscience.

Thoroughly cleansed and feeling a bit more human I wrapped a large towel around myself and padded back to my bedroom, glancing in all the rooms on the way through. All empty, no Ric; not that I was surprised. I had put one foot over the threshold of my boudoir when the front door opened and I spun around, glad that Ric had not deserted me for the whole day. He stood there, staring at me, his hands weighted down with supermarket carrier bags; not returning the smile I flashed at him.

"You're up!" It was a statement rather then a question and I couldn't help but notice the frosty tone it was delivered in.

"Yeah, feeling much better – managed to sleep it off!" I responded with an overly cheery voice, trying to compensate for his dour mood, but he simply shrugged and walked into the kitchen, ignoring my state of undress, instead the sounds said he was unpacking the shopping. There was little I could do except get dressed quickly and join him in the chore.

"You didn't have to do the shopping," I commented five minutes later, having thrown on jeans and a t-shirt and rushed to join him in the kitchen, trying to make it quite clear I was not wallowing in self-pity.

"There was no milk, bread, tea, cereal; fruit;" he shrugged. "It had to be done." I hadn't been mistaken, his tone was abrupt and hard, no smile to soften his words; his jaw clenched and his brooding black domino on his face. "Nothing to eat." He shut the cupboard door forcefully and then pushed past me without a word and marched out of the small kitchen; leaving me standing there, guilt and shame rolling around my emotions.

With a sigh I set about making a conciliatory cup of tea for both of us and carried them through to his bedroom where he was rapidly typing away at his computer, sitting as the desk with his back to the door. I moved over to his side without saying a word and stood there, the mugs held in my hand, one proffered to him. He indicated a space next to his elbow with a nod of his head and a muttered word that might have been thanks, but never took his eyes off the screen or stopped typing.

"Dissertation going well?" I tried to make my voice cheery, moving away from his side, perching on the bed and sipping from my cup. He simply grunted in reply, not deigning to answer and engage in conversation. I tried again. "Was last night okay?"

"Yeah," the word was abrupt, flat and disconnected, discouraging further questioning. I knew there was only one way to get a response from him and with a small internal grimace and little thought for his emotions I walked over and pull the mask off his face with one swift movement, knowing that it would rile him. It worked. "Fuck it Izzy!" He exploded, jumping up from his chair as if there were a fire cracker underneath, swinging around to face me. His jaw was clenched tightly, hands balled in fists by his side. "Why did you do that? Give it back." He held out a hand towards me; his face set in a grim line.

"Because I would like you to talk to me, rather then grunt. Civil conversation that is the key. Let's start again shall we? Why not try 'Hello Izzy, glad to see that you are up'"?

"Oh, we are on the poor Isabella tack are we?" His nostrils flared and he flicked his fingers of the upraised hand, wordlessly demanding the return of his mask.

"Poor Isabella!" The words were like a red rag to a bull and I immediately felt my ire rising. "I simply asked you to stop behaving like a twat and engage in some civil conversation, which you seem incapable of. I am not looking for any sympathy!" He took a step towards me and with a quick movement plucked the mask from my hand, glaring at me as he did so.

"This is a pointless conversation and I have work to do." It was his maddening grown-up voice, the tone of the lawyer who knows better; the adult lecturing the naughty child. He put the covering back on his face and then wordlessly turned around and sat down again, his spine rigid. I had to resist the urge to stick my tongue out at his back.

"Fine," my voice was tight and I spun on my heel marching out to the living room and sitting in the chair, finishing my cup of tea as I alternately sulked and fumed. It took five minutes before he stormed out the bedroom, standing behind the sofa, bracing his hands on the back and fixing me with his intense stare.

"Alanya was there last night," he opened. "Alanya and Sandy's squeeze who has known him all of three minutes. But my girlfriend, no she said she wasn't up to it. Fine, I understood – it was going to be a late night and she was tired so I rush home afterwards to be with her, at the wrath of my manager who wanted me to stay and schmooze and try and sell the band. And then when I got home it was to an empty flat and it turns out you were out partying. Had you decided in advance? Why didn't you just tell me when I asked you to come rather then making up some cock and bull about not fitting in!" His nostrils flared with anger, eyes flashing as he scowled at me; obviously waiting for the defence to speak.

"It was _my_ manager from my _new_ job. I had to quit my old job, because my former boss fancied you and was making my life hell because you wouldn't play ball with her, admittedly twisted, plans." I stressed the salient words as I spat them. "Sometimes you have to say 'yes' even when you don't want to you know. She is only trying to show me a good time because she wants me to bring Cluinn in as an account. And no, I didn't enjoy myself," which was sort of true, but I continued with only the slightest stab at my conscience. "I can't drink like them, can't party like them and was actually home by just after eleven, so I doubt you had been alone for long.

He was grinding his jaw, teeth clenched together as I talked, his face pulled into a false resemblance of a smile, even as his eyes were flashing fire. "So, if you could find the energy to say 'yes' to her, why could you not have granted me the same favour? I could have done with your support last night Izzy, you claim to love me and then leave me just when I actually bloody well need your support. You are so fucking selfish!"

"Selfish!" I jumped up from the chair and strode over to the other side of the sofa, eyeballing him to such a degree that he stood up, using the advantage of his height – a pointless gesture as I simply stood on the sofa and poked him in the chest as I shouted at his face. "I have stood by you for the past six months! I have given you a room rent free, furnished it so you can study, cooked you meals, washed your clothes – tiptoed around so that you can get on with you oh so important degree, which you then turn around and throw away to be a rock star. Don't you bloody well call me selfish you emotionally anal git!" My words were vicious – he had hit where it had hurt and I hurled it back at him.

He had frozen when I started my litany, his face falling with every point I drove home, aided by a poke in his chest. By the time I had finished he was outwardly frowning and turned wordlessly on his heel moving away from my pointed finger and sharp tongue and marched into the spare room. He was only gone a minute before returning with a banded pile of fifty pound notes which he thrust into my face.

"Here," he sneered. "Take it, six months rent at five hundred a month – that's about the going rate for a room around here isn't it?" I was taken aback by his gesture; shocked by the amount of cash he was pushing on me.

"I don't want back rent!" My voice faltered and I turned my face away from the notes, pushing it back towards him with a hand. Maybe I had gone slightly too far. This was not an issue about money.

"Then what do you want? I don't think I know Izzy." I clung to the fact that he at least was using my nickname again, not keeping his distance with the formality of Isabella. He eased back and stood there, arms crossed across his chest, the money clutched between his fingers.

I took a deep breath and went for honesty, hating the fact that we were arguing again. "I just want to be with you, as your girlfriend and not made to jump through stupid hoops and not be part of a marketing plan or part of an idea. I don't want to have to pretend I am someone I'm not – I've done that for too much of my life and originally meeting you was a breath of fresh air in that respect. But it seems that I have managed to get myself more involved then ever in the biggest marketing, advertising spin then I have ever seen!" His face was still confused, but no longer as angry as before.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? Just look around you Ric, look properly in that room – at the amount of clothes that are in there, you've just been given! Have you listened to the radio recently? Your song is being played every hour. Have you seen the advert for the album at the bus stops, in the streets, on the back of magazines? _Cluinn_ is everywhere and then when I return home yesterday I find that at a moment's notice I am expected to participate in all of this by putting on a party frock and going out with you!" I waved my arms around as if to signify the advertising that seemed to be spread all over London, if not the United Kingdom.

"I apologised for not telling you," he butted in, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"Yes, but then when I got there, your oh so charming manager had a go at me for referring to you, in a private conversation I might add, by your given name. No, from now on I am meant to refer to you as Phantom, or maybe if it is just us, then hey I can call you Tom. That's not your fucking name!" I roared the last sentence, for it was the point that I was most worked up on – the image that had been created for him. "I was told when I could be with you and when I wasn't; when I could smile and hug you and when I was to disappear. I am not a member of _Cluinn_ and I never agreed to be managed by EGA, never signed a contract with them."

"Isabella." The single word was spoken softly, even if his face was passive. "Is that what this is all about? You don't like me as the Phantom?" I nodded tightly, embarrassed by the fact, realising it was stupid when faced with Ric standing there in the broad daylight, no different to his usual appearance with his old jeans and a t-shirt on. "Why?"

"You are intimidating," I spoke the truth softly, sitting back on my heels, my bravado drying up. "You are like a stranger, not someone I know, but someone I would cross the street to avoid." My words were the barest of whispers and I realised that Ric had moved, crouched down by the arm of the couch in order to hear what I had said.

"Iz, it's only a costume, an illusion. Nothing more."

"It is an illusion, but a very cleverly created and thoroughly thought out one. And Devlin expects me to participate in its existence by climbing into my own box, so that he can lift me out of when I am needed, but otherwise keep me out of the way. Alanya isn't treated the same. Is it because she is beautiful?" He shrugged, his mouth downturned as he listened to my woes.

"Possibly. All is fair in love and record sales." His gaze was solemn. "Would you rather I quit _Cluinn_ then?"

"God no!" I flopped onto my stomach, my face inches from his. "I do not wish to break up such talent. You guys are marvellous and have worked so hard to get here. No I don't want that at all! I just want some reality on the situation – reality and understanding that I am an innocent bystander in the craziness and I don't want to be swept up in the detritus that follows bands around."

"Is that why you didn't want to come last night?" His voice was very soft now, soft and gentle and he lifted a hand to stroke my hair. I nodded, not wanting to speak again, scared I might cry. He always had a way of unnerving me. "I'm sorry Iz," his apology was quiet and he pushed himself over the arm, pressing a kiss to my forehead. It reminded me in a flash of last night and the way Ralph had kissed me.

"So am I." My mouth trembled, partly from sorrow and also from relief that we had not fallen into a huge argument and that he seemed to understand my point of view.

"The thing is," he paused and swallowed hard. "Sorry to surprise you again, but the boys are coming over in an hour or so. It's the charts tonight and well, we find out where the single is and at what number the album had entered in at. Indications look – positive!" He flashed a look at my face. "D'you mind?"

I sighed and sat up. "Do I have a choice? No Ric, I don't mind, as long as it is just the guys. They know me; they know what I am like. It's all the bloody hangers on I object to. As long as I can call you Ric and sit next to you and cuddle up to you, that's fine – it's everything else I object to. Remember I am your girlfriend by choice, not by design."

"Deal!" He stood up and sat next to me, pulling me into his side and stealing a kiss from me. "I hate arguing with you Izzy," he added. "But you are magnificent when you're riled!"

* * *

It was late by the time we went to bed, very late – mainly due to the fact that we had stayed up partying; celebrating the astounding news that the single had climbed to number five in the charts and the album had entered in at number ten. It was a huge surprise to the band; who had been hoping for a top twenty chart position only and were expecting a top thirty place, but somehow the song had caught the imagination of the great British public and they had reacted by buying and downloading the single.

"And we haven't really done much promotion yet," Ric yawned as we snuggled up in bed together, our limbs entwined under the sheets. It was heaven to be together in a bed again both drifting off to sleep at the same time – it happened so rarely these days.

"I know, Jim kept saying." I raised a languid hand and let it drop onto his body so that he let out a low husky laugh.

"The thing is Izzy," he rolled over onto his side to face me. "What you said earlier, about not wanting to be part of this whole thing. If you choose to stay on the sidelines, I will never see you. We are going to be touring like crazy – Devlin insinuated as much the other day. Obviously there is a public out there who likes our music and so it is worth the pain and expense of going on the road to please them and hopefully get more fans. After the festivals, we are doing a UK tour and that is going to keep us busy from September until Christmas. Unless you are willing to come and stay at the weekends and be with the band, we are not going to be together. "

"I won't have to dye my hair blonde and go around calling you Phantom or Tom or whatever?" I tried to sound light hearted.

"You will have to do whatever Devlin says if he's within earshot darling, but otherwise – no. But you are going to have to get used to me, Phantom, whatever you want to call my stage persona; for that is who goes out and sings. It is still me under the makeup!"

"I know and I will get to use to you, I just..." I shrugged. "I have always felt uncomfortable with fancy dress, clowns that sort of thing. Never had any desire to do amateur dramatics and pretend in that way." I fell silent again, amazed at the amount I had confessed to, glad to get it out in the open. Talking about my discomfort made it easier, let Richard know that I wasn't being deliberately awkward. "You know, I said Tatiana only invited me out last night because she wants me to bring Cluinn in as a PR account. She will ask me tomorrow." He let out a laugh.

"So she took you out and got you rip roaring drunk. Obviously doesn't know your character that well! So what does Taylor Herring have to offer us that other agencies could not?" In the dim light I saw the white of his teeth as he flashed me a smile.

"Experience with the right genre, for we are known as a specialist music and media agency. We have several successful artists that we have worked with in the past such as Dido and Robbie Williams and have a proven track record in successful working with all the major record labels." I spoke with a modulated voice as if I were reciting for an advert. "Would you be interested in joining this team?" I stopped and looked at him, squinting in the gloom. "Well would you, it might be a way of being together more?"

"It would be a way of being with the group more," he added. "But I will speak to Dev and Jim tomorrow – sure I can convince them it is a good idea." He yawned deeply. "Now I had better get some sleep, tomorrow is going to be manic, the start of manic in fact – and I have my exam in two weeks. Goodnight Iz, sleep well." He shifted himself and pressed a kiss to my lips before sinking back onto his pillows and within seconds was asleep.

I could not fall into repose so easily, having had my fill earlier in the day and so lay there, watching the headlights of passing cars spread across the ceiling. Despite Richard's assurances and wishes, I was still very unsure of my role in his life and his future. I had a taste of what the coming months were going to be like and I was very hesitant on the sheer madness of them – from concert to gig, to interview and then on to a festival. How was I going to keep up? In the darkness I looked at his sleeping form and felt a rush of love well up inside me, bringing tears to my eyes. "Please, please," I whispered into the darkness. "Don't leave me by the wayside as you go!"


	30. Chapter 30

**Okay, I did say if you were really kind I would leave you a sweetner and I have. I have created an iMix on iTunes that is basically the songs I have listened to that I imagine would be on Cluinn's first album. So you can download and listen as you read, get a feel for what is going through my mind music wise. Slight problem is that I can't put the link on this page, so if you want it - drop me a PM (private message that is, not a prime minister) and I will send it to you. Apart from that please review - come on don't leave it to my 3 faithfuls! Pips **

Chapter 30

Needless to say, waltzing in to work with the promise of a big juicy account did wonders in cementing my reputation and position in my new job. On Monday I had nothing more then Richard's sleepy promise, by Wednesday the agreement was sealed and being biked over to Devlin for his signature and approval by the band. On Thursday a meeting was scheduled for the next day to discuss exactly what I planned to do with the huge responsibility I had been handed. Tatiana was ecstatic for my success.

"You can help mould them Izzy – what you do now, I mean with their single climbing so high and the fact that they are performing at all the big festivals, can help affect their record sales and popularity. Have you written a plan?" I regarded her levelly, noting that she seemed more excited then me by the meeting, before it dawned on me that she was a supporter of the group.

It was the first time I had personal experience of a Cluinn fan and found it slightly startling to realise that people had thoughts, dreams and fantasies based upon an image that I was helping create. That for many people throughout the country they were not the ordinary men who only the other day were lounging all over my furniture, but the characters they inhabited on stage- Sexy, intense and desirable.

"I am simply discussing with Devlin Summers his plans and views and where we can work together. He obviously wants to make the band work in the here and now, for him it is all about record sales. If I am working to cement the band's reputation in other ways then it is good that we are in accordance. Singing from the same hymn sheet." I pulled a face with the thought of having to work formally with a man that I was nurturing a strong dislike for.

"But the band, they are going to be in on it as well?" Tatty's voice was high pitched and wild, her enthusiasm hard to dampen down.

"I think Jim and err...Phantom - might be, I am not sure about the others." My tongue tripped on Richard's stupid stage name, hoping that my colleague did not pick up on it. I wouldn't be a very good PR agent if I went around blabbing about the true identity of the lead singer.

"What about the bass guitarist, the one with the puppy dog eyes. Him?"

"Angus? I'm not sure," I said honestly, surprised that she was attracted to the shy and retiring bassist. I had a secret soft spot for his gentle conversation and retiring ways, often overshadowed by Jim's performance and Richard's appearance, despite his talent on the guitar. "But I can get a message to him if you want!" I let the bait hang in the air for a minute, seeing if Tatiana took the bait.

"Can you? How?" She practically squealed like a teenager, before pausing. "Oh yeah, I forget that you know them anyway." She sighed and then a glint lit up her eyes. "So, as you share a flat with the Phantom; can you tell me something? What his real name because I am sure you don't go around calling him that all the time?" She glanced at me wryly. "'Hey Phantom, is it my turn to do the washing up or yours?'" she mimicked, causing me to crack a sarcastic smile.

"Do you really expect me to answer that Tatty?" I put my hands on my hips smugly, for once enjoying having the upper hand. "I wouldn't be a very good agent if I went around telling all their secrets would I?"

* * *

The conversation was upmost in my mind as I went back to my flat that evening, not sure if Ric was home or not. His exam was in a few days and he was frantically trying to study, forcing time between the band commitments, which had stepped up a pace ever since their recent chart success. The midweek indications were already looking positive he told me and it was fully expected that both single and album would climb again on Sunday.

As a result the band was on almost constant call to try and reinforce the expectation, often fulfilling two or three appearances and signings in a day. I had almost forgotten what Ric looked like this week, as the Phantom seemed to be around more then ever.

I didn't even bother to call out a greeting, sure that he would be absent and walked straight into the kitchen, dumping the carrier bag of food that I was toting onto the counter and preparing the ingredients for a stir-fry for one, finding solace in the rhythmic chopping of the vegetables.

"You're gonna' need another pepper." The soft voice sounded from the doorway and I whirled around knife in hand, my free one pressed to my breast, in a vague effort to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. It was beating fast under the pressure of my fingertips.

"I didn't think you were home?" It was an inane comment really, for he obviously was, standing in the doorway as a fully fleshed human being and not a figment of my imagination. He wore nothing more then a t-shirt and jogging bottoms, bare foot and without a mask, his glasses on his face instead. This was my Richard, no sign of the Phantom anywhere.

"I am a free agent until the exam," he explained, strolling into the kitchen and stealing a slice of red pepper from the chopping board, his hand darting with speed, under the knife I held. He leant against the worksurface, idly biting into it, his gaze sliding to the heap of ingredients I had prepared. "I just kinda' lost it with Jim and Dev today and told them that four days were not going to make a have a massive effect on the popularity of the band, but could make a huge difference to my degree! They agreed, in the end."

"Because I am sure you couched it in a language they could understand?" My tone of voice was wry, knowing how communication tended to be between Jim and Richard; I doubt he held back with the swearing simply because his manager was there. He simply cocked an eyebrow at me with a smile, the gesture saying more then if he had repeated the conversation word for word. I laughed and continued with my chopping before hesitating. "Except you are supposed to be coming over to my offices tomorrow for a meeting about how we can help the band with their PR. Aren't you going to attend?"

"Oh," he stopped in mid-swipe of more pepper and straightened up. "Do I need to be there?"

"It's a meeting with me, so no, I suppose not. We can have a quick conflab this evening if you want." I was unsure if I was happy that he couldn't come or not. On the one hand, the kudos of bringing in the lead singer of a major band would give me a huge ego boost, but then he would be there as the Phantom and as untouchable to me as anyone else. It might be easier to run it if I didn't have to sit there gazing into his eyes; unable to treat him normally.

"Okay then, after supper. I just have to finish making some notes on things," he said idly, running a gentle hand over my hair and tipping my face up for a kiss before wandering off, leaving me frowning at the worksurface.

Not much later we sat down to steaming plates of stir-fry, enjoying having a quiet dinner at home together, something that had become a rare occurrence; as Richard had committed himself to his two loves, music and his degree. Once again I could see the bags of tiredness under his eyes, the frown of concentration that sat on his forehead, even as he ate – as if he were constantly reviewing facts and figures through his head.

"The exam is on Monday?" I asked breaking the comfortable silence of eating. He shook his head.

"Tuesday – three hours first thing in the morning. It's an open book exam but really intense." I gave a snort of laughter.

"Open book exam, that's easy isn't it – you can look the answers up?"

"Izzy, this isn't some GCSE paper with right and wrong answers," he regarded me critically. "Basically you walk in to the exam room and are given a situation regarding a child and you write a report on it, as if you were doing it in real life; implementing policy and law that could have an effect on their future. Therefore you need to know core texts, arguments and case studies backwards. Having the books simply allows you to get the wording correct, but the knowledge still needs to be up here," he tapped the side of his head. "And right now, all I seem to have swimming around in my head is music!"

"Not very helpful I suppose," I added, wiping up the last few pieces of noodles on my plate, before taking a sip of wine. "So you just want to be left alone this weekend then?"

"_I vant to be alone_," he mimicked in a fake accent with a smile. "Alone except for you that is!" He smiled warmly at me and added. "I need someone to make me tea, and massage my shoulders and feed me." He dogged out of the way of the expected blow I teasingly aimed at him as he stood up and gathered the plates, taking them through to the kitchen.

"Well, before you enter your seclusion," I called to him as he strolled back out. "Can I just steal fifteen minutes of your time to go over some stuff with you? I need to know your opinion on certain ideas; otherwise Devlin and Jim could browbeat everyone into their plans. Actually do you think Sandy and Angus might be there tomorrow?"

"Doubt it, Sandy is still working, refuses to give up his job at the moment, the man is not easily parted from his petri dishes and Angus has to go to the dentist, he was bitching about his tooth most of the day." He settled on the sofa with a groan and I came and joined him, curling up in my usual chair, kicking my shoes off and propping my feet up on the coffee table. "You've got silver toes," he commented peering at my naked feet with a degree of fascination.

"Oh, you like it?" I glanced down at the nails which were painted in opalescent silver shot through with a purple tinge. "I thought it looked quite cool." He simply humped in a usual male way and settled back down, waiting for me to make an opening move. I picked up my pen and notepad, reviewing the notes that I had already made. "Right, firstly is your MySpace Page still operational?"

"Err, no don't think so," Richard frowned. "Angus used to do it, but as far as I am aware nothing has been posted for ages!"

"Okay it needs to come down, not part of your current image – could almost be adverse promotion if it is old and out of date, give people the wrong impression. Need to create a new fancy Cluinn website." I made notes as I talked, cross referencing discussion of logos and fonts with music samples and videos, looking to my boyfriend for confirmation of my ideas, but letting the ideas flow. A quarter of an hour and six pages of notes later, I was finished. "All make sense." I looked over to Ric, who sat there, frowning slightly as he followed all that I said.

"Yeah," he nodded slowly, absorbing all the information. "That seems about right. I like your ideas for a monthly competition, making it all more fluid. Trouble with a static site is that once you've visited it, that's it. As for the fan area, is that possible?"

"Special music, unseen footage, private competitions, that is all perfectly easy. Providing the footage to go on there might be a bit more difficult from what you were saying. Do you have music that didn't make the final cut of the album, but you still like?" He nodded.

"And twelve years of back material but some of it sounds a little old fashioned now. You can hear the different musical influences in the way Jim and I use to write. As for video teaser, no, there is no spare footage because Devlin doesn't want anything filmed at old Cluinn concerts to be used and we just haven't done enough yet for new clips. The two main concerts are already out on YouTube." He shrugged and then stopped, hesitating as he glanced over at me, a question appearing on his face, although he remained silent with verbalising it.

"What?" His scrutiny was intense.

"There is a video that would be really cool to make, that would never go on general release. A basic story board has already been sketched out and it could work. Be filmed very easily." I regarded him warily, he seemed to have a plan and I wasn't sure if I would like it. "Would you like to make a music video of 'Broken'? To go on this fan section of the website only?"

"Oh!" I was taken aback caught out with his offer. "When?"

"Is that a 'yes' you will do it?" He confirmed with his analytical lawyer trained mind. "You like the idea."

"I'm not sure and I didn't think you have the time. How long does it take to film a music video?"

"Twenty-four hours or thereabouts, not too bad. It wouldn't have to be anything fancy, but it could be really effective to get people to sign up." He was using my arguments to try and turn me to the idea – marketing the group.

"Yes, well," I stalled. "That is something to discuss tomorrow with Devlin – it is simply an idea and not one that they will all agree to." I flashed him a smile; one he returned and he pushed himself off the sofa and planted a kiss on my lips.

"I trust you Iz; you seem to know what you are talking about. I had better get back to studying. He cupped my cheek in his hand, the edge of the bracelet I had given him, dancing against my ear as he gave me another drenching kiss. "Okay," he said standing up, lust clearing from his eyes, a smile on his lips. "Let me know when you're crashing for the night Iz, or I will loose track of time."

I finally went to bed at ten-thirty, leaving Ric studying away, marking and cross-referencing huge tomes in front of him. He briefly paused to give me another brain drenching kiss, before switching off his passion and turning back to his revision. I slept fitfully, aware that the bed next to be remained empty and that the light was still burning in the spare room. When I woke in the morning I found him stretched out on the spare bed, still dressed in his jogging bottoms, looking as if he had literally fallen asleep as soon as he lay down.

There was little point in waking him and I had a busy day, needing to get into the office early and prepare, read through the notes I had made last night and put my ideas into a PowerPoint presentation ready for the meeting. I was determined to be as professional as possible in front of Devlin and not let him have the upper hand as he seemed to usually gain. As the hands of the clock swept around to ten thirty, I felt the sweat prickling on my back due to nerves. In some ways I found this much more difficult then any other meetings I had lead, so much more riding on my decisions then a client's apparent success.

"Isabella, your meeting is here. I've put them in meeting room two." I turned and looked up at the junior executive who stood by my desk and flashed her smile, aware that she was probably rather stunned by the people she had just shown in.

"Can you get us some coffee?" I requested, standing up smoothing my short skirt down, gathering my notes together. Tatiana saw me making a move.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked innocently. "Probably good if you have some support as this is your first time leading a T&H meeting. Inwardly I sighed, outwardly a smile spread across my face.

"If you want to Tatty," I offered generously, not worried about her presence. It was only Devlin and Jim I was meeting and she might be useful in stopping me punching the opinionated manager. I swept into the room, a smile on my face and stopped short in the doorway as my gaze swept the three people seated around the table. Devlin, Jim and Ric – in full Phantom mode! My abrupt stop had Tatiana nearly careening into my back and I only stepped to the side in time, my face a puzzle of confusion my glare aimed at the third member of the party who quirked his lips in a smirk back at me.

If yesterday he had been Richard, the tired and overworked student, today he fulfilled the epitome of his stage persona. It was almost as if he had gone out of his way to be as brooding as possible. He sat back from the table; his long legs stretched before him in a pair of black drill trousers, long boots over the top that he had only bothered to lace at the bottom so they flapped open. His white t-shirt was of some thin material that clung to his body, so that with the light pouring through the plate glass window I could make out the individual muscles of his chest, whilst an expensive looking leather jacket was casually slung over the chair behind him. He had a black half mask on his face, it ran down the middle; bisecting it into two and he had ringed his eyes in kohl.

He noted me clocking him and his appearance; the smile widening and a quirked eyebrow threw me a challenge. I narrowed my eyes at him before turning my attention to the other people in the room. Jim was dressed in a similar manner, too much black for a spring day, but as it was not unusual for him the effect was not so startling. Devlin was all cheerful bonhomie as I made introductions between them and my colleague.

"And Tatiana, this is Phantom," I said sweetly, gesturing to the tall masked man as he stood up and leant over to shake her hand.

"Nice to meet you," his tone of voice was soft, the Scottish accent lightly dampened down and he held her gaze for a minute, before sliding to me, a question in his glance. I shrugged telling him in one gesture that I was not sure why she was there. I am sure the excuse was due to her wanting to meet the band members and very little to do with coaching my ability to deliver a wining pitch.

I was nervous as I loaded up the PowerPoint presentation, trying not to stare at Richard, who was thankfully the other side of the projector and lost in its glare. I had to hide the shake in my voice as I presented my ideas, sold the purpose and suggested the plans with which we would move forward. They were no different to those that I had covered last night and it took me a while to figure out why he had taken valuable time out of his study to attend the meeting. That was until I got to pitching the website and my personal idea of a dedicated fan sight.

"A specialist video, only available to the people who subscribe," he repeated my idea in his deep calm voice, all eyes in the room on him as he had spoken little since we had started, letting Jim and Devlin do the talking.

"Yes, something to sweeten the cherry that only dedicated fans can access, password protected, so it cannot simply end up on YouTube." I repeated what I had told him last night, realising that he had put the palm of his hands flat on the table. My eyes slid to the pile of bracelets that adorned his left wrist, subconsciously checking for the black silk and silver that was sitting in the middle of the jewellery, continuing to travel down his hands, past the ink stains he had tried to scrub off his fingers and to the silver nail polish that he had painted on to his fingers. I recognised it as the colour of my toenails, the bottle sitting on my dressing table. My frown deepened as I had the nagging sensation he was up to something.

"As we know, Isabella recorded a special track on the album – a repeat of a song we performed at Christmas," he spoke, gesturing with his hand towards me, I think as much for Tatiana's benefit, then the other people in the room who were perfectly aware of what I had done and the relationship between us. Early download indications are showing that this is gaining quite a dedicated following – isn't that right Dev?"

"Yeah mate – actually message boards buzzing about it. No one can figure out who the female singer is."

"So, it would therefore seem to make sense that the video we make to go in this fan area is of that song." Oh damn Richard and his analytical way of talking. As always the facts and possibilities had been pre-checked, the scenarios considered and now he was closing the net. I felt my panic rise as I looked at the three men who sat around the table and then flashed a glance at my colleague, her face looking stunned.

"Sounds like a bloody good idea to me. Whaddya say Izzy?" Jim drawled, flashing me his smile. I held my own grin down as I saw the subtle kick Richard aimed for his foot, obviously not liking his informal address as if we were sitting in my living room and not in a meeting. For all his friendliness' and charm Jim was not well versed in picking up the subtle undertones of a situation.

I hesitated in replying, not wanting Tatiana to be in on this conversation, not wishing for an outside party to be witness to the agreement for it would be impossible for me to wriggle out of it at a later date. I realised that was exactly what Ric had hoped and why he had decided it was worth being at the meeting today – in his usual way he was managing it all and not checking with me.

"Gosh Izzy," Tatty's voice broke the silence that had descended on the group as my glare whipped between them all, mostly aimed at Richard, although a certain amount of venom flashed at Jim and Devlin for even considering such a ridiculous notion. "You could be in a music video, a professional one!" Her voice was modulated, but the excitement shone through and even though she spoke to me, it was Phantom that she was smiling at. "You said that show, the Christmas one, was on YouTube – this could only be a hundred times better. And, it would bring a new meaning to managing your account – Charlie will be over the moon!" As if pleasing the CEO of the company was the only thing on my mind! I still remained silent, realising that there was truth in some of what she said – I was already on the internet, why not at least do it professionally.

"Tatty, could you go and get us some more coffee?" I asked with a sweet smile, needing to get back on an even footing with the men in the room and not able to do it when she was present. She shot me a look and gave a slight nod of her head before picking up the tray and heading out of the room with a wink in my direction. "What the hell are you playing at?" I demanded as soon as the door was closed. "Trying to browbeat me into a corner when I cannot say 'no' easily?" The blood was boiling in my veins; worry and adrenalin rolling around in a vicious cocktail in my stomach and I raked a glare over all of them finishing with Ric, who was calmly examining the silver colour of his nails. "Richard?" I hissed, knowing that he wasn't looking at me on purpose. I had learnt to understand his body language too well.

"Phantom," Devlin corrected me automatically.

"We are in private company," I swung to face him, my eyes narrowed in anger. "I will call him what I want!" I saw Devlin's face darken with anger and in a flash realised that I had maybe pushed it too far – after all I was still chasing the business of the group and the record label could take it away.

"Devlin, Izzy," Richard had looked up and spoke with authority. "Stop it both of you. Devlin, you are riling her and you know it, Izzy," he fixed me a look, leaning on the table, bracing his chin on his clasped hands and staring at me with intent. "We would like you to make a video of 'Broken' with us – it would work fantastically well with your idea of creating a strong fan base. You have an amazing voice darling and people have picked up on this so let's make this video and as an added bonus come on stage with us and sing it at Glastonbury and then you need never open your mouth to sing another note again – it will sell itself!" He pleaded with his eyes, a slight quirk playing across his lips and I found myself nodding as he looked at me almost as if I were a puppet with no control of my body. He sat back in the chair and flicked his head towards his friend and his manager.

"Okay," Jim said mildly, flashing me another smile. "No probs with me -love you on stage with us Izzy." Devlin gave a weary defeatist sigh.

"When for?"

"End of next week?" Richard glanced at Jim and me for confirmation which we gave; not that it would have made much difference if we hadn't. "The storyboard that you showed us the other day. Is it possible?" Devlin pulled a face then finally nodded.

"If I get the contract drawn up today and sent over to you here Isabella, you need to sign it and get it back to me before close of play. I think we can shoot it over at Shepperton, although might not get permission for Highgate this late in the day." He flashed Ric a grin, a gold capped tooth winking in the light. "You're lucky I started setting this up already or the answer would be no! And it had better get payback." He turned his gaze at me. "We need to get a database of e-mail address' here for marketing and selling to." He raked me a glance up and down. "And go and get your hair highlighted!"

The meeting rather fell apart after that and by the time Tatiana had returned with a tray of coffee only Ric and I were left in the meeting room, sitting next to each other, our fingers lightly linked and talking sotto voiced about how this video might work. "Oh, is it finished?" Disappointment echoed in her voice as she came through the door, causing Richard and I to push away from each other.

"Devlin had to go, apparently there is a lot of pre-production involved in shooting a music video, as I am about to find out." I tried to keep my voice calm and modulated, wondering if she had witnessed anything to make her think the relationship was more then a professional one.

"I cannot believe that you are going to do this! Oh my god Izzy!" She gave a squeal and then stopped, suddenly becoming aware that we were not alone in the room and the lead singer of the band was still sitting there, an amused smile on his face as he witnessed her excitement.

"It's not as much fun as you think, "he volunteered softly and I noticed how my colleague blushed a charming shade of red as he spoke, confirming my earlier thoughts that she was a fan of the band. Her normally strident voice came out smaller and quieter.

"So I've heard. Um, I guess you are finished here, could I ask just one more thing before you leave?" Ric nodded and she rushed on. "Would you sign this for me," she asked, whipping a CD from the file she had left on the table. "For my, err, niece." She added, causing me to give her a puzzled glance. I was unaware that she had a niece, for as far as I knew, she and Ralph were the only two children. He gave a charming smile and pulled the cover out the jewel case, pausing with the black pen she handed him before scribbling the word 'Phantom' in the corner and handing it back to her. "Thank you," she gushed.

"Anytime." He nodded and smiled, standing up and giving me a private look that I knew meant we would talk later, gave us his thanks and left us standing in the meeting room.

"Oh my god," Tatiana clutched the cover to her chest. "He is gorgeous Izzy – I can't believe that you share a house with him! How do you manage to do it? I would just want to jump into bed with him every night – mask and all! You have no idea how lucky you are – and now you are making a music video! Iz, there is no turning back from all of this!"

"I know," I agreed with a weak smile. There would be no turning back – it seemed that Richard had managed to get his own way – as usual.

* * *

I could almost smell the testosterone as soon as I walked through the door and was unsurprised to see Angus stretched out on the length of the couch and Sandy sitting in the armchair. Jim was curiously absent, but both men greeted me warmly. "Izzy, I hear you are making us record another video," Angus commented mildly, sitting up as he spoke to me and moving over so that I could sit down.

"Yeah," I sunk onto the cushions next to him, sliding off my shoes which were beginning to rub and leant my head back with a sigh. I had a slight headache forming with the stress and intensity of the day, everyone in the office had heard about my deal from Tatiana's unsubtle lips. They all wanted to talk to me and I had started to get an inkling of just how amazing a coup I had pulled off.

The contract with EGA signed and sealed and returned by courier, I waited for the end of the day so that I could come home and discuss what had happened with Ric. Now my flat was full of men, but not the one I wanted to see. "Where is he?" I glanced around.

"Gone to get some booze," Sandy offered mildly. "And Jim is seeing Alanya off at the airport. You know there is a total lack of alcohol in this house Izzy!" I laughed lightly, knowing it was true. Neither Ric nor I imbibed heavily and so we were often caught short with an outstanding lack of anything alcoholic. The boys had become used to this and more often then not would turn up with their own supplies. Obviously tonight they had been empty handed.

"Didn't you bring any?" I questioned cheekily.

"Some cans, but Ric said it wasn't good enough and insisted on going to get something better – which worries me slightly. The man might have good choice in some things, but not booze!"

"God, do you remember how he used to turn up to parties at uni with Babycham or what was that awful stuff sweet stuff called?" Angus laughed from the couch.

"Taboo," Sandy and I answered in union, before I shrugged. "Hey I was a student once as well."

"Yeah well, he can afford to get something decent now, so hopefully he will ask some advice and buy something worth drinking." Sandy added and I frowned at him confused. After all as far as I was aware Ric was still on a student budget and most of the flamboyant clothes he wore were given as part of the general band promotion. "Well you know; we all got money when the band signed to EGA." He continued, noting my confusion. "It's quite nice not being a pauper anymore and then there will hopefully be royalties, although we currently owe EGA money, rather then raking it in ourselves."

"Wait – what!" I sat up straighter and my gaze flicked between the two men. "You guys have already been paid?"

"Sort of," Angus shrugged. "We got an advance, which works out about 20K each after all the other stuff is paid but the label will try and recoup it through record sales. That's why everyone is getting so excited that the album is selling. Of course Ric gets more as the composer of most of the music. I don't know, you need to ask him – he sat down and went through the contract line by line, arguing every single clause and comment. I think Devlin was quite impressed by his tenacity. But yeah, we have money for the moment. Mind you Jim is so use to it, he seems very unimpressed."

I fell back against the cushions a frown on my forehead as I disseminated this information. It gave sense to Ric tried to push all that cash on me the other day. It also explained why both the band and the label were pushing so hard for this album to be a huge success, no middling average record sales here. It suddenly made my job all the more important.

I started to discuss web design and flow with Angus, realising that it was a huge area of interest for him, being the way he had made some money in the lean years, when the band had been playing purely for the buzz and not for money. In between his now defunct job as a courier driver, he had been retraining in web design and had built up a small business. He seemed slightly bemused by the idea that he could earn a living playing his guitar.

"But that is what Jim and Ric say can happen," Sandy butted in, fidgeting slightly in his seat. We were all getting restive waiting for Richard to return home. "If they can agree on anything for five minutes it will all be fine. But then hey, the relationship between the singer and lead guitarist is traditionally a volatile one, so we will just sit back and watch them argue. One day one of them is going to punch the others lights out." He laughed and stood up, opening the door as we heard the sound of footprints climb the stairs. "About time Ric, you been treading grapes?" He joked as Richard walked through the door, a carrier bag in one hand and his phone pressed to his ear.

He hadn't changed from earlier and as he stood by the table, talking rapidly on the phone, a sunbeam shone through the window, dusting his tall form with sunlight. "Yeah, okay. No, I don't think so. Okay, bye." He put the phone down on the table with a sigh and turned around to face us, the scowl on his face softening into a smile as he looked at the welcoming committee waiting for him. "Where have you been man?" Sandy said, walking over to the bag and drawing out two chilled bottles of expensive champagne, their orange labels flashing.

"I had to wait for them to be chilled and then when I was in the shop someone took photos of me! "By the time I left and went down the road I had a couple of people chase me and ask for my autograph! He paused. "It was weird! That is the first time anything like that has happened when I've just been out doing my own stuff!"

"Yeah, well what do you expect going around dressed like that?" Sandy turned and faced me. "Got any flutes Izzy?"

"Err," I stood up and went into the kitchen, extracting a few dusty cheap flutes from where they languished at the back of the cupboard. Champagne didn't feature on my drinking menu often. I emerged to find the three men genially arguing as they opened the bottle.

"Calling you Tom isn't too bad," Angus said as he took the glasses I held and poured some of the golden bubbly liquid into it with a practiced hand. "Phants is just stupid, that's for the roadies really. Can't see why when it is just those that know you we can't call you by your real name."

"Izzy agrees," Richard nodded at me as I stood there and I couldn't help asking, even though I realised what they were talking about.

"Your stage name?" Angus and he pulled faces. "Yeah well Devlin tore a strip off me today because I dared refer to _Phantom_ as Richard in his presence" I stressed the word sarcastically as I spoke. "I mean it is stupid – of course people will find out your name, it doesn't have to be a huge secret, just a perception that there is one. It will be all over the internet in a couple of months – just you wait. Too many people know you as Richard Stewart. It much more about how you behave. You go out dressed like that," I nodded to his aggressive and overt manner of dress, "then you are asking people to look at you. Go out dressed like everyone else and I am sure you won't be given a second glance. Looking ordinary is unremarkable."

"S'pose so, although Dev sounded really excited that I had been stopped and photographed. It is bloody difficult signing my name though – have to really think about it." He grabbed a spare glass off the table and held it up high. "Anyway, whatever comes of all this we are on the up and Izzy here is a key in that. So guys, here is to the video of 'Broken'!" He held up his glass and we clanked ours together, the boys smiling at me as I tried to smile back. It still hadn't quite sunk in!


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

It was the middle of summer, in Britain, which meant the weather at best, was glorious and worst cold, grey and raining. It didn't make sense given our unpredictable climate we held some of the best outdoor festivals throughout the whole of the summer. There were simply hundreds of gatherings and events over the whole of the British Isles with musicians and artists performing everything from poetry readings and classical music to heavier pop, rock and dance. From the very south of Cornwall up to the shores of Loch Ness people paid anything from a few pounds to hundreds to listen, party and dance to their favourite music, more often then not in less the clement weather.

As Richard had insinuated, Cluinn had been booked to play at almost all of the major gigs that started in May and continued to the very end of August. For four months they were due to travel from event to event the length and breadth of Britain to perform to crowds in their thousands. At the end of May they had gone to the first festival of the season, One Big Weekend, performing on the upcoming acts stage to an audience of several hundred, more when the television cameras relayed the performance over the box. June saw them travelling down to the Isle of Wight festival and appearing for the first time on the Main Stage in front of several thousand. But it all faded into comparison when held up against the mega event to end all, Glastonbury, the largest outside festival in Europe!

For one week Worth Farm was transformed into a mecca of talent for the Glastonbury Festival of Performing Arts and bands from all over the world would choose to perform there, despite the often less the clement environment. After all they didn't often have the opportunity to play to crowds of more then twenty thousand.

There was no way I could stay at home. Apart from the slightly worrying fact that Richard had managed to evoke a promise from me about singing, I had never been to Glastonbury and it was one place I had always wished to go. Unfortunately, as I had found out the first time I had tried to travel with the band, I was not awarded a berth in the bus. Therefore accommodation was exceedingly uncomfortable as I was forced to squash into a small bunk with Richard if I wished to stay, or we had to pitch a tent alongside thousands of others and camp. Neither was hugely appealing.

At first I thought it must be glamorous travelling in a luxury coach, outfitted with kitchen and living space, bathroom and bunks. I soon realised that whilst it was more comfortable then an average bus, when the band and some of the main crew were crammed in, there was a huge lack of privacy. Not only did the band have their living quarters on board, but the tour manager and production manager had allocated berths as well – although they were never still enough to sleep.

In the past couple of months I had worked like a demon on the Cluinn account, evoking, pleading, begging and occasionally bullying the web design company into building a site that reflected the unique and unusual face of the band. It was an instant success, somewhere for the increasingly growing fan base to focus their addiction. The first week it went live, hits were in the tens of thousands – not even two weeks later it had pushed over a five hundred thousand. When we launched the dedicated fan section we started to build a huge list of contacts, aided by competitions and promotions. Record sales surged again and the band and label were ecstatic when the album climbed to number five in the charts, the single sticking in the same place for another three weeks.

Apart from building the website, I found a fair bit of my time and energy were spent burying exposes on the band. Every couple of weeks it seemed that a new hack, hoping for the limelight was about to reveal the truth of the identity of 'Phantom'. So far few people had been close – many able to figure out that he had attended Edinburgh University (no kudos there – it was on Wikipedia) but none actually able to come out with his full name, most thought it was Tom something. The same investigative reporters made no mention of Jim's privileged birth, apart from an aside that he was 'posh' or any other revealing facts about the individual members and after a few poorly written articles, I soon realised that it was a way of filling column space and had very little to do with wanting to know the truth. A well placed press release or e-mail to the paper stressing the privacy of the band usually stopped such journalistic drivel in their tracks.

Instead I worked with the record label and their agent and between us we ensured that every music magazine and radio station interviewed the band, played their music and had promotional prizes to award; so that it seemed Cluinn was everywhere. I had even had the coup of getting their music used as a theme on the BBC, creating even more exposure. The irony of being involved with a media drive that I claimed to despise was not lost on me. I felt a stab of guilt when I would arrive home, often crossing paths with Richard leaving for a gig or appointment, pausing briefly in the living room to exchange messages and a kiss.

His exam had passed and he seemed to be cautiously optimistic with his results, closing most of his books and throwing himself more thoroughly into the band commitments, leaving his dissertation in limbo until nearer the deadline. Instead they gathered together, practicing their songs and set whenever there was a spare moment, honing their performance for all the festivals that they were booked to perform at. "You are playing to so many people," Richard explained to me one evening, when we found a few spare hours to curl up on the sofa together. "You might as well be standing at one end of the street and I at the other and see if you can hear me sing, as that is as far away as some people will be."

"It's the atmosphere isn't it?" I asked with a frown. "There are screens and people know they won't be standing close to you – they are not intimate gigs, it's not what people go for." He shrugged and sighed, resting his head against mine with deep weariness and closing his eyes briefly. "As long as I am getting a buzz from performing then it is fine. If that ever stops, then I need to worry. I suppose I can always go back to the law." I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, not wanting to stay the potentially wrong thing, so choosing to remain silent.

That had been two months before I had found myself sitting on the train, travelling from Paddington down to Somerset where I was suppose to be picked up and taken to the site. The band, crew and plethora of equipment had travelled down earlier in the day so that they would be ready for setting up tomorrow morning and prepare for the gig in the evening. I had left all my things piled up by the front door for Ric to take on the coach, including the raincoats and wellingtons that were almost de rigueur at Glastonbury, given the weather.

I had worried long and hard about what I would wear on stage this time, not wanting to be dressed again without any say. Therefore after much rumination, panic and fuss, with more then a little input from Alanya and Richard, I had chosen a fantastic dress that complimented the band's image but reflected my own personality, not so heavy and brooding – no desire to be so dressed head to toe in black.

It was late by the time I reached the small village station and joined the other festival goers who were still arriving, despite the late hour. I was conspicuous by my lack of luggage, not weighed down by large backpacks or tents. Instead I stood there in jeans and a t-shirt, with nothing more then my oversized handbag and a magazine, trying to blend in whilst looking around for anyone who might pick me up. I somehow doubted it would be Ric himself, but not sure who would be given the chore.

A large black Land Rover swung into the car park and pulled up a metre from where I was standing, the window lowered an inch and the friendly face of one of the crew beckoned for me to get in the car. I needed no further encouragement and climbed into the back of the huge vehicle with its tinted windows; feeling very glamorous. "Hey," a hand closed on my arm as I shut the door and I jumped with a small gasp as I turned and saw Ric sitting next to me, a hat pulled down low over his head and a smile on his face.

"Ric," I turned and flung my arms around him, our lips joining in a kiss as the car pulled off at speed, thrown around slightly by the winding road. "What time did you get here?"

"'Bout three. I've had a look around and it's mad, totally mad. Forget Isle of Wight, this is so much bigger. We gonna' have to go for a wander when we get back." He wrapped an arm around me pulling me in as close as the seat belt allowed so that I cuddled into his side. It was a short ride to the campsite where we were caught up in a stream of traffic that seemed to flow in and out. Twenty minutes later we were dropped off in the VIP area and left to our devices. All around people flowed, music played and lights blared. As Ric had said it was totally overwhelming.

"Can I just drop my stuff off and freshen up? Is it wet out, will I need boots?" I barraged him with questions as we wandered over to the huge coach, stacked up in neat rows with other identical vehicles. Unlike the rest of the campsite it was fairly quiet; the action taking place around the stages, and of course the bar. I looked around in wonder and surprise at the relative calm, having expected it to be a roaring party. "Where is everyone?"

"Where the action is," he commented opening the door and leading me up the stairs into our accommodation for the next two nights. "Also the security is as tight as it comes, so no one is in around here that shouldn't be – thankfully!" He breathed a sigh of relief causing me to smile at him. As the band's popularity increased, Ric suddenly found the attention poured onto him as the lead singer rocketed. So obviously identifiable due to his strange facial attire he was not a difficult character to spot and he soon found himself being photographed and hassled when he went about the mundane chores of life. Why anyone would find it interesting that 'Phantom' bought milk was beyond me, but there was a rack of gossip magazines to be filled and hundreds of people with mobile phones willing to snap pictures.

Therefore he and I had sat down and together figured out how he could go about his daily life with ease. Using the small light prosthetic that had been provided when the new masks had been created, I showed him how; when blended with a light covering of foundation, a baseball cap pulled down on his forehead and either glasses or sunglasses, people barely gave him a second glance. Without his facial covering making him stand out, most people didn't give him a second look. It was what he was wearing now.

"No you don't need wellington's it's actually quite dry – at the moment, although it might rain later." He pulled me to the back of the bus. "I put your bags on the bunk above mine – Jim and Alanya have hired their own camper for the weekend as they wanted to be alone so there is a bed for you. Just dump your stuff and let's go. It's perfectly safe – George is guarding everything." I nodded in agreement and pushed my bag onto the small shelf that served as a bed on the bus. It was going to be a cosy few hours, but at least I got to be with my boyfriend. Linking arms I let him lead me back outside and into the night.

We hung out for hours, slipping out of the backstage area and joining in with the main camp, wandering around, watching the band on the Pyramid stage performing, drinking beer and eating burgers that we bought from a stall. "Can you believe it's going to be you up there this time tomorrow," I whispered in his ear, as we watched the people performing.

"I can't believe we are playing here full stop," he said briefly, smiling down at me. "Let alone the Pyramid stage! A year ago I was ready to jack this all in and immerse myself in law. See Izzy, meeting you was the best thing ever. If I hadn't; I probably wouldn't be here right now, even if I am shitting myself with nerves!" Our lips met in a lengthy kiss before we drew back and look at each other. Our wordless glance said the same thing – we wanted each other, now; straight away – the crowds, the crew, the rest of the band be dammed.

It seemed to take an eternity to get back to the bus, wending our way through the crowds from the Stone Circle at one end of the farm and back to the camping area where the bus was parked. It was thankfully empty and we fell into the living area our lips locked together. Ignoring the piles of equipment, guitars and electronics that were scattered about, we proceeded to make love on the leather seats, ripping each other clothes off and letting all our inhibitions go, buoyed up on the atmosphere and excitement of our location and the adrenalin of the performance to come.

It was almost midnight when we finally settled down, still thankfully alone – obviously everyone still out on site, no doubt watching the band whose set was starting to draw to a close, in line with the strict licence laws. We were lying on Richard's bunk, the duvet thrown over us, my head resting on his chest. We were both exhausted after our busy days and active lovemaking and soon drifted off to sleep. Some time in the night I woke up cold and stiff, realising that Richard must have moved to a spare bunk, the sound of several people snoring echoing through the stuffy air of the coach, noise from outside still filtering in. I vaguely registered Sandy's roaring shout, before I once passed out again.

Morning time came and that was when the reality of our situation came crashing down. Six people on a bus and one small cubicle shower was all that there was for ablutions. Of course there was the option to go and use the campsite communal showers, but I was feeling a bit shy and self aware as I realised that I was lying naked in Richard's bunk and he was no where to be seen. I kept the curtain drawn listening for the sounds of several men moving around to dissipate, which seemed to be done with much good natured swearing and jostling.

Finally all was quiet and I dared to draw back the thin barrier of fabric and glance around. Instinct proved correct and I was alone. Sliding out of the bunk I hastily wrapped the duvet around me assessing my surroundings. If last night there had been a certain chaotic glamour, now it was just messy. Bedding hung out of the small shelf like bunks, bags leaked clothes and there were the belongings of five different people everywhere. I could see why Jim and Alanya had opted to get their own lodgings.

Glancing at the bunk above I could see a collection of bags that had been dumped there, my handbag from last night, the extra large bag I used to house my laptop and a bag containing wellingtons. What I couldn't see anywhere was the wheelie suitcase with my clothes in. I gingerly moved around looking everywhere for another place it might have been dumped. I could find nothing. With a sigh I pulled on my clothes from the day before, realising with an embarrassed heat that they were tangled up on the floor of the lounge area with Ric's jeans and t-shirt. No prizes for guessing what we had been doing last night!

The sound of the door opening had me whirling around to face Pete, the tour manager. "Glad to see you're up Izzy." He gave me a grin which I weakly returned, wondering how he could seem so full of life so early in the morning.

"Do you know where everyone else is?" I asked. If anyone did it would be Pete who had his hands full organising the logistics of keeping the band on the road – everything from getting the buses to drive to the right place, to sorting out the venues, licences, equipment and crew. Obviously he had an efficient team under him, but he still ran it with an almost military eye that most office managers could only dream of.

"Hopefully at the Radio One's cabin being interviewed," he answered. "If you are going over there you might want to wear your boots – it rained last night! And can you take Tom's as well please. Also tell them to get their arses over to backstage for a sound check at two."

"Tom's?" I queried, before suddenly realising – we were on tour and my boyfriend had a different name. "Oh; yes, of course." My clothing worries momentarily forgotten I grabbed the wellingtons and carried them downstairs, sliding mine on at the door and carrying the other pair under my arm. The rain overnight had been heavy enough to dampen everything down and changed the trampled grass to a muddy mess, but the day was warm; quite humid with the grey cloud forming a blanket over the sky. I wound my way through the assorted stalls, tents and up through the pathways towards the back of the stage. It was ten o'clock and the site was only slowly starting to wake up, most people sleeping in – apart from the buzz of the different acts getting ready for their shows.

My coloured wristband was checked and I was allowed to the infamous backstage area, the place where a hundred groupies tried to get in every year, not realising that it simply contained more muddy grass and another beer tent with media luvvies and all the hangers on spending time there. There was a much better atmosphere in the main arena. Here organised chaos reigned as hundreds of crew members unpacked and set up the equipment of all the bands that were performing, cables trailed everywhere and the huge rigs that formed part of the stage sets took up vast amounts of room.

I was slightly cross with myself for over sleeping and forgetting about this interview that I had helped set up. I knew that as the 'new boys' of the festival, having had such a meteoric rise to fame Cluinn were attracting a lot of media attention. Their polite manners and helpful demeanour also meant that they were easy to interview and so were popular with the stations. Instead I hung outside the unglamorous portacabins that were the offices and studios of the radio station at Glastonbury sitting on one of the chairs outside, feeling skanky in my day old clothes and unwashed body and hair. All around me the campsite was waking up and there was an air of unhurried labour as people went about their jobs, all except for the crashing and banging coming from both the Pyramid and Other stages. I must have half dozed off in the humid air for the next thing I was aware was the door opening and the four band members striding out, Ric in the lead.

"Hey," I shouted to get their attention – my voice causing them to stop and look around. His face was one of anger as I walked up to him, handing the black wellingtons over that I had tucked under my arm. "Here you go; it's quite muddy out and about!" I noticed that Jim had already donned a rather beat up green pair, no doubt broken in on the estate in Scotland.

"Humph," he snorted as he grabbed them from me, shucking off a trainer and sticking his foot in the wellington, looking like some tall crane standing on one leg. I was glad there were no cameras about, for it was quite an amusing spectacle.

"Did the interview go well?" I stood at an angle, providing a handy leaning post as he put his hand on my shoulder trying to keep his balance as he changed shoes on the other foot. He frowned more deeply, his black half mask highlighting the glower.

"Why the fuck do they have to ask such puerile questions?" he demanded; as if I had written them myself. "You would think they would want to ask about our music, our feelings about performing here, possibly even future plans – but instead they spent nearly half an hour just being crass!"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, just crap like 'do I enjoy living under an opera house' and 'have I haunted anyone lately' and 'do I speak French because isn't the Phantom French'. I told you totally infantile crap!" He ground his teeth, his eyebrows lowered in displeasure as he started to walk off. I hurried after him.

"It's just a bit of fun, Ri...Tom," I said. "Don't take it so personally."

"I am not taking it personally; I just think that they are not doing the group any favours. There are no promotional opportunities in having the piss ripped out of you. And you are supposed to be the bloody PR manager," he sneered, stopping and swinging around. "So why can't you bloody well manage it so they learn how to conduct an interview or I won't be giving anymore!" And with the parting words he strode off once more, leaving me doing a very good impression of a gold fish, too stunned to feel upset. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

"Don't take it personally Izzy," Sandy said, wrapping a beefy arm around my shoulders and drawing me into his side. He's been in a bad mood since he woke up. Had a go at me for being loud last night, as if I was the only one making the noise! Obviously someone didn't get enough sleep – what did you do to him?"

"Nothing!" I said in puzzled confusion, looking at the figure being swallowed up amongst the tents and cabins as he strode off.

"Oh, he's just tense," Jim added, falling into pace with us. "He's thrown up once already because of nerves. Like Sand says, don't take it personally. Although they were being particularly stupid on the radio and even though we could see Ric getting more and more fed up they just kept baiting him. Sure it's childish, but I am sure there are plenty of people out there listening and laughing. No such thing as bad publicity isn't they right Iz?"

"Errm, supposedly. So what, they pretend he was the 'Phantom of the Opera' then?"

"Yeah, basically. Tried to draw parallels every single time they could. Although when they asked if he could speak French and he replied in French, they were speechless for a second or to! Vaguely amusing." Sandy just snorted as if he didn't agree.

"I didn't know he could speak French?" Yet another thing I was only starting to find out about my boyfriend; along with the being sick with nerves. He always seemed so calm and collected.

"Not as well as I do but better then average," Jim replied. "More then enough to get by; so he told them to stop asking such stupid questions and didn't they have anything better to do with their time?" The boys all laughed at the memory as we strolled back in the direction of the bus, discussing the set to be performed later that day, making me realise the other worry preying on my mind.

"Did any of you guys see a small black wheelie suitcase being loaded onto the coach when you left?" I asked with apprehension, hoping they would help me.

"Only hundreds," Angus supplied unhelpfully. "Any defining features?"

"Blue ribbon tied to the handle," I supplied. "And um a bright yellow glow tag thing on it." I looked at him eagerly, hoping that his eyes would light up with recognition, but he simply shook his head.

"No. You missing it then?"

"Well I asked Ri...Tom," I corrected myself again, "to take it with him as I came down straight from work. It has all my stuff in it, spare clothes, washbag, makeup and what I was going to wear on stage later. I have nothing else with me!" My voice rose to a high pitch with worry and Sandy's arm tightened as he changed his grip to a hug, realising my distress.

"You know Devlin not's about Izzy, you can just call him Ric," Angus said quietly. "He'll be here later posturing and posing, but don't worry until then okay. It annoys the rest of us just as much as it annoys you!" I gave him a weak smile at his support and looked down at my feet and the muddy path we were trampling, all of us clad in wellingtons, t-shirts and jeans. Not very rock star like!

"You can borrow Alanya's makeup Iz darling," Jim cut in. "She has a ton with her. And I'm sure she can lend you some clothes as well!"

"That's very sweet of you Jim, but we aren't exactly the same size on the clothing front," I smiled at him, grateful of his generosity, even if it was impractical. I could probably one fit one leg into most of Alanya's creations.

"You can buy a lot of stuff here as well," Sandy cut in. "I mean they charge a fortune for it, but you know grab a t-shirt of some rival band, put some goo in your hair and off you go – you'll look fab! It's not as if anyone is turning up dressed for the Oscars – we've all been camping out. I really wouldn't worry Iz and the video will be playing in the background, so everyone can see how beautiful you look normally!"

"Yeah, I suppose – the what!" It took a second for what he had said to sink in. "Which video? You don't mean 'Broken' do you?"

"Well, yeah, on a screen at the back as you are singing. Devlin thought it would be a good idea, the stage is so big and we aren't playing at night, so you can't have a really cool lightening gig. What?"

"I am going to kill that man!" I detached arms with Sandy and glanced about, running a hand through my sweaty hair and looking around me wildly, wondering what I could do to stop all this. There was no way I wanted that video shown to the masses. I had only agreed to star in it on the basis it was for the website. "It can't be shown, it just can't be!" My voice rose a pitch and I started to feel nauseous at the thought that the video I had participated in would be shown to all, not just a stream of dedicated fans. Richard had lied to me, getting me to star in the video under false pretences.

It had been a tiring and intimate shoot and whilst the resulting picture was beautiful and moving, it had also left me feeling quite exposed. I was too much of a novice to not pour my heart and soul into the making of it and whilst my emotion made for a good viewing, I felt far too possessive about the final result, for the world to view it.

The opening scene had been shot in black and white, Ric and the rest of the band gathered around a freshly dug grave, his voice gravelly and sad. The scene then cut to him sitting in a chair, looking at a photograph of me; the intimation being that I had left him in death. Cut scene again this time to Ric walking through the gothic splendour of Highgate cemetery, his mood and clothing black and depressed. He stood against a large stone sarcophagus with an angel on top that; with the aid of some very clever photography, morphed into me, the screen changing into glorious Technicolor like the Wizard of Oz. As instructed, I had sat on the edge of the stone, white angel wings on my back; arms around his shoulders as I sang before disappearing back into the stone at the end, leaving Ric on his own in the sunlight.

It was a sad but moving video and I felt tears welling up in my eyes whenever I saw it. Knowing the background reason for why the song was written, how difficult it was for Richard to even let it be recorded in the first place I was hugely reluctant for it to go out to a wide public audience. It was a private beautiful piece of movie and I felt that showing it on huge screens to the masses would be to destroy it.

"It has got to be stopped!" I hissed, staring at all three men. Their faces were sympathetic but blank.

"It can't be stopped Izzy," Jim said quietly. "It's been planned, decided – you might as well call yourself King Canute and try and turn the tide!"

"Well maybe Ric can do something," I ground out, forgetting that he had stormed away only a few minutes ago. "He was the one who bloody well suggested it in the first place, he must have known!" I looked at the boys again, hoping that they would agree, but I wasn't getting encouragement from any of them. "I am going to go and speak to him, give me twenty minutes will you!" I strode on ahead, leaving them silently shaking their heads as one, ignoring the potential warnings they had tried to give me.

I stormed back to the bus, and climbing in and barking out his name as soon as I entered. There was no answer and I glanced around trying to locate him, before going upstairs. "What Izzy," I heard his voice groan and spun round, looking at him sitting on the sofa, his head in his hands elbows propped up on the table in front. He didn't turn his head to look at me and I hesitated between anger and worry.

"Are you okay?" I finally muttered after standing there for a couple of minutes when he didn't say anything else, but continued to stare at the table, his mask discarded in front of him. I sat down opposite, leaning down low; trying to grab his vision.

"Go away," he said at length, sitting up straighter, looking slightly green around the gills, but otherwise calm. "I'm not in the mood." He sounded tired and fed up and it reflected in his expression. "Whatever you are going to complain about, I don't know and I can't fix it." He exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes. I sat there and stared at him.

"I've just found out about the video," I replied back, telling him my worries anyway, silently counselling myself that he was just tired and nervous; his behaviour was not intended to cut.

"I said I can't fix it," the reply came sharply.

"So you did know that it was scheduled to happen then?" I glared at him. "You knew that the 'Broken' video was being played behind the stage? Even through you expressly told me it was for the private fan member section of the website." He shrugged in reply, his face set in an unhappy frown, swallowing hard as if he was trying not to be sick. I could see the sweat beading on his forehead. "Are you sick?" I demanded. "Let me feel?" I reached over and put a motherly hand on his forehead, feeling the sweaty but cool skin under my palm, not quite sure what I was suppose to be feeling for, but glad it wasn't burning hot.

"Get off Izzy," he growled, moving his head away from under my hand. "I'm not sick, I just feel shit! And in answer to your question, no I did not know that this was planned when I asked you to make the video, in fact I only found out yesterday on the way down here when we were going over the schedule."

"So who agreed that it should be shown? I have said all along it was to be a private thing, not something I want on general release! Why have my wishes now been ignored?" Ric winced and I realised my voice was high pitched and I was screeching, the noise no doubt carrying through the small open windows.

"You signed a contract didn't you Izzy?" His tone of voice was dull almost disinterested and I could tell his focus was not on me. "Did you read it right through before you signed it?"

"Oh um," I tried to remember back all those weeks ago; when Dev had the paperwork biked across to me, urgent in its message, telling the courier to wait. I had glanced over it and scribbled my name at the bottom, confident that it was as Richard had said. I shook my head.

"You never bought it home so that I could read it," he admonished, leaning his head back against the cushion his eyes closed. "So I wouldn't be surprise if there was a clause in it to the effect that the video shall be used for promotional purposes as is seen fit. Never ever sign anything without having it checked over first. Silly girl!" He opened his eyes and lifted his head slightly to look at me again. "No, there is nothing I can do about it. You just have to weather it!"

"Oh fuck!" I didn't know quite what else to say; after all it would seem my own stupidity had caused this problem. I should have known better, Devlin Summers was a pro at this; he didn't care about my sensibilities, just about selling records and making money. Anyway that could be achieved was fine by him.

Richard suddenly sprang from the seat and raced to the small cubicle that was the loo, the sound of retching carrying back to me as I sat there and I stood up with alarm, banging my head on the low curved ceiling as I took a step backwards. He came out a few minutes later, looking pale and wan, shaking slightly. "I'm gonna' lie down," he muttered, exhaling through his nose and without another word he flung himself onto the mid level bunk, covering his eyes with his arm and turning his head towards the wall, his whole posture telling me to stay away. I stayed there for a moment, desperately wanting to offer comfort, but not sure what to do, before picking up his mask and placing it gently next to him and then leaving the bus.

I stayed away after that, decided it was best to give Ric his space and instead went and wandered around the festival, desultory looking at the various stalls selling everything from camping equipment to band merchandise, hoping to find something I might be able to wear on stage. Most of the fashion followed a tie dye hippy look, not something I went in for. The situation was getting quite desperate and I had no idea what to do. I decided the best course of action was to return to the band and see if Alanya could help in any way. Before I could even figure out where I was, my phone rang.

"Izzy, where are you? You are on stage in two hours and everyone is going a bit frantic. You haven't been answering your phone!" The female tones of my friend and confident came over.

"Oh!" In truth, my signal was so patchy out in the sticks that it may or may not have rung. I was so tuned out of it all that I hadn't even noticed one way or another.

"The boys are all in the trailer and I think I might have found something that will work as a costume. If you come back now I will be able to do your makeup."

I needed no second bidding and rushed across the huge acreage back to where the trailer was parked. Home to two of the crew, it also doubled up as a dressing room of sorts and a place for the band to go before and after a concert. She was waiting for me outside, managing to look beautifully dishevelled and casual in a tiny little pair of denim shorts and a small slither of a shrug over a t-shirt, her large diamond ring sparkling in the light. I am sure her picture had already been taken hundreds of times that day.

"There you are, come into our trailer – it is a bit of a scrum in there." She dragged me to the large Winnebago next door, the sheer size offering much more luxurious living arrangements then the boys had on the bus. "Look what I found," she said without preamble, pushing a pair of feathery angel wings into my hands. "Actually I didn't find them, one of the techs did when they were unpacking the gear, guess they got put in there after the video shoot. Here, if you team this with this little top," she held up a tight little black t-shirt," it should look fabulous. Don't worry, it will fit!" And she set to work with my look and face so that half an hour later I was once again made up with a professional hand, although more casually then I had for the concert back in December.

Teamed with the little black sleeveless t-shirt, my eyes highlighted in such a way that they almost seemed to glow and my hair delicately piled on top of my head in a messy styled bun, the look she had recreated was not dissimilar to the styling in the video. I looked quite ethereal and unworldly – even if the look didn't go too well with wellingtons.

"Well that is one thing we can share at least," she said pulling out a pair of trendy gladiator sandals and passing them to me. "Size six right!" With about half an hour to go I was all made up, in a costume of sorts and ready to go. Suddenly I realised why Ric might have been feeling so crap – the nerves almost cut my stomach in two as they started boiling and rolling.

I stepped across the patch of grass and banged on the next door trailer. It swung open a crack and Angus pulled me in. The band was sitting around on the chairs, laughing and cracking jokes, mainly at Sandy's expense – being the drummer and therefore the butt of most teasing. In contrast to earlier they were all in costume, the casual t-shirt and jeans replaced with more elaborate get up a fair share of denim, leather and black. Ric sat in the corner, not really participating in the antics but silently brooding, almost as if he were perfecting his stage persona. I walked over to him.

"Are you feeling better?" He shook his head in the negative and grimaced, most of it going unseen behind the full face mask he wore. It covered his face from the top of his forehead dipping low around his mouth so that practically his whole face was behind it, except for a small area around his mouth and chin. The black surface was decorated in silver swirls and flourishes, giving it a Victorian flamboyancy. He wore it with a pair of tight black leather pants and a black filmy mesh top that was translucent, so his biceps and flat stomach were on view. It was startling, flamboyant, sexy but also slightly freaky.

"I think I have some bug," he went to wipe his face and then stopped with an annoyed flick of his hand as his fingers hit the covering. "It's just coming out of both ends and I've been popping Imodium like its sweets. As long as it stops me from having to run off stage in a hurry." He passed a glance over me and his lips thinned. "What's happened to your dress?"

"My bag didn't seem to have made it on to the bus," I raised my eyebrows. "So I literally have what I am standing in and a little bit of Alanya's magic. That's it." He snorted in a masculine way, not taking responsibility for my missing luggage. "I think I'm going to have to head back after this as well – can't stand a third day in the same clothes." He shrugged as if my decision didn't bother him.

"Don't know if you'll be able to find someone to take you to the station – the guys are going be busy packing up," he grunted, not offering to help find a solution to my problem.

"I'll just order a taxi then." I could feel the tears pricking in the back of my eyes, not wanting to cry and ruin the beautiful makeup, but thrown by his stoic, unyielding demeanour. The bloody mask he had chosen made it ten times worse because I couldn't catch even a glimpse of his face. It was just a blank surface – a bit like talking to a wall! I turned away from him, not wanting him to see that I was distressed in anyway, in his current mood I had no idea how he would react and didn't want anymore baiting from him. Nerves, tiredness and worry played enough tricks on me that I felt unsettled.

"Have you warmed up?" The question was almost barked from behind me, so abrupt was its delivery. I shook my head. "You should. Quickly do a few scales – start with A flat."

"No, Ric – I can't." I turned back and reluctantly faced him.

"Do it," he snapped back with such ferocity that I took a physically step back, alarmed by the firm thin line his lips were pressed into and the glare in his eyes. I opened my mouth and sang a shaky scale, silence falling over the trailer. Ric got to his feet and came and stood in front of me, placing his hand on my stomach and another on my back. The feel of his touch almost made me sag with relief. He might not look like Ric, but standing this close he smelt like him and his touch was the man I knew. I concentrated on his wrist and the bracelet I had given him, joined by sweat bands, his nails once again painted, this time black. "Do it again," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper in my ear. "And don't forget to breathe." I followed his instruction and this time the sound came out clearly. He took a step back and collapsed back into the chair. "Go on," he nodded.

I sung the usual ascending and descending scales, arpeggio and a few basic intervals. I was vaguely aware of Sandy perched on the edge of a table, twiddling his drumsticks in his hand, of Angus, listening with a slight smile on his face as he tuned his guitar, but all my attention was on the man in front of me who sat there, his head propped up on his hand. When I had finished he gave a satisfied nod and a grunt of approval. I flashed him a weak smile. "Now you're ready," he said with a certain smugness.

It was a good thing too for there was almost immediately a knock on the door and it opened admitting Pete. "Ah Izzy, glad to see you've joined us. Right guys, order list as we went over earlier – Izzy, 'Broken' is number four. We need you to wander on and sit down on the speaker, pay no attention to Tom until it is your turn to sing and then as loudly as you can. Have you ever used in-ear monitors before?"

I look at him in bewilderment, not sure of the technical jargon he was using when Jim came to my rescue. "I don't think you have Izzy, Ri..Tom?" I let out a small smile, glad to see Richard's best friend tripping up over his silly stage name.

"No, she hasn't." His voice was soft, warming and he stood up, a comforting hand on my back. "It works better then using wedges Izzy, the music will be balanced to your ears rather then coming from the front. It echoes too much when the stage is so big and doesn't give you any movement away from them. Here I'll put them in for you." He held out his hand for a pair of small earphone objects that Pete handed him and hooked them around my ears sliding the bud into my lobe. "Comfortable?" I nodded, alarm on my face, not use to this sudden change, having had no time to practice. Suddenly I wished I hadn't skipped the sound check.

But there was no time to say anything and what's more Richard's hand was sliding across the back of my neck, his fingers dancing a light tattoo on the top of my spine, sending shivers through my body. It was so subtle that the onlooker probably didn't notice it, but I could feel it and I looked up trying to catch his gaze which he avoided giving.

It was a blur as we moved out of the trailer, led across the grass and temporary pathways to backstage where a huge flurry of movement was happening. The previous band had finished, the crew flat out, setting up for the Cluinn concert, the crowd in front seemingly growing by the second so that the huge field in front was filled with a press of bodies. I found it hard to believe that last night I was one of those little dots, now I was up on stage.

Sandy started the concert off, banging his sticks together and setting the drum beat. I had come to realise how crucial his role was, holding the band together, creating the bass line that the music was played off. I always thought the talent was in playing the piano or guitar, but having spent more and more time with the boys, realised that they all shared in the music making.

The crowd went wild as they plunged into their first song, heavy hard rocking, shaking away cobwebs in the audience with a noisy sliding bass and a strong electric whine, the incessant beat going on in the background. Ric didn't play guitar for this song, instead belting out the lyrics, his gyrating hips and growling vocals taking up his energy. The crowd went wild, as they effortlessly slid from the ending of the one song into the next. For the second piece of music the Phantom picked up his black guitar and took up the rhythm, the crowd letting out a huge scream as his echoing lyrics were flung out over them. From my corner of the wings, I saw the huge screen at the back, changing from focusing on close ups of the band to swirling colours and back to a montage of pictures that had been picked out from a couple of gigs they had already played.

As the song ended I could see Richard's chest heaving up and down, two songs down and the effort that had been put into them was immense. But without pause the music started to play again, the calmer ending of the second song being picked up at the start of the third. The Phantom stood with his guitar slung at his back, singing with all his effort into the microphone, the crowd responding, jumping up and down, and participating with a chorus. It was an amazing sight to witness.

But all too suddenly, before I really had a chance to prepare myself the song finished and it was my turn. I was to join them on that huge stage, in front of a worked up audience. My knees felt as if they were about to give way as I heard the last syllable of 'Light of Day' being carried out and fading into the background. No way to turn back now.

As much to give me time to get on stage, Richard started to address the crowds, his voice sounding quite Scottish when amplified across the field. "Are you having a good time Glastonbury?" The cheering that came back at him made everyone on stage smile. "Okay, here is something special for you lot." That was my cue and I walked out and sat on the speaker nearest Jim as I had been instructed, head bent, angel wings sticking out at the back and my heart pounding furiously, clutching the microphone in my sweaty palm, the feedback happening in my ears. I was glad when the lead guitarist turned around and gave me a sly wink.

Ric's guitar had been exchanged for an acoustic and I heard the gravelly opening to the song, the beat and rhythm sounding in my ears. "_I wanted you to know_," he growled into the microphone. And then thankfully, the music came and took me up, sweeping me into its embrace and I watched as he sung; his attention on the audience until I reached my cue.

"'_cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome and I don't feel right when you're gone away_," I sung in tune with him, realising how potent the words were. And then it was turn for my solo. "_The worst is over now and we can breathe again. I wanna' hold you high and steal my pain away_." As I took over the song, singing from where I was sitting; Ric approached me, took my hand in his and pulled me to my feet. The crowd went wild and I noticed some of them singing along, tears pouring down their faces as they mouthed the words, the sound a quiet roar against the music on stage. It was too much to bear and I turned my attention back towards my partner. I could see the sweat running down the side of his face as we sung. The mask must have been horrifically uncomfortable and there was a slightly glazed look in his eyes, as if he had turned inwards to find his concentration. Unable to do anything I continued to sing to the end of the song, coming round as the final chords were played and the crowd started to cheer in appreciation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Isabella Saunders," the Phantom spoke, holding my hand high in the air so I could take a bow, the palm clutching mine sweaty and shaking. No, something was not right with Richard at all and I searched his eyes trying to communicate with him, whilst still taking a bow. A final cheer and I trooped off into the wings again – bargain done and sealed, no need to stay and sing this time for I was not part of the overall image of the group. I was welcomed back to the smiling faces of Pete and the crew.

"Well done Izzy," the cockney tones of Devlin Summers echoed in my ear as I pulled the receivers out, leaving them to dangle around my neck. I turned my head towards him with a neutral expression. Of course he would be here to watch his group – they were his signing and he took a lot of personal responsibility for them.

"Hello Dev, when did you get here?" I asked coolly, deliberately turning my focus back onto the stage and the way Richard and Jim were running around it, singing and playing. I was aware that he came and stood next to me.

"Just down for the evening – can't miss this though. Boys first Glasto and playing on the Pyramid stage. Quite a coup you know." I acknowledged this fact with a nod of my head; knowing it was true, but not liking the cocky triumphant tone in his voice as if this achievement was solely down to him and the band had nothing to do with it whatsoever. We stood side by side for a while watching the show, my focus on Richard, noting the effort he was putting into performing.

"Phantom isn't feeling very well," I spoke quietly, not wanting it to become public knowledge. "Can you arrange for a car back to London for the both of us at the end of the show?" There, that was one way of getting home. I was sure Richard would rather be ill in the privacy of his flat then on the bus.

"They have a signing tomorrow and another interview," Devlin objected. I ground my teeth at his arrogance. Of course I knew as I had helped set them up.

"Cancel them. I don't think he will feel up to it – he's been throwing up all day and he wasn't good out there just now."

"Looks fine to me." Devlin replied stubbornly, almost as if he were trying to bait me. God I hated the man at times.

"Because he is the consummate performer Devlin. Look; tell you what, arrange for a car and either I go back alone or he comes with me. Either way, I don't care, but you do that for us – got it!" I snapped fed up with his insolence. His company may be backing the group, but I was annoyed at the way he wanted me to bow and scrape to his opinions. Devlin's eyes widened at my assertiveness, but the smile he flashed was charming.

"So the kitten can bite; I shall do as you request Ms. Saunders." He took a step back and pulled out his phone making a brief call before coming back again. "Done. Phil is parked around the back and he will take you whenever you want to go. But Phantom only goes if he says so; it's not up to you – girlfriend or not!"

"Fine. I gazed out at the stage again. "I am going back to the bus to gather our stuff and put it in the car. I will be back in ten minutes – don't think the set should have finished before then!" I handed my receiver back to the sound crew and strode off the stage, a few people casting looks in my direction and snapping pictures on their phones. I suddenly realised that I still had my wings on – people obviously realised I was the one who had been singing with Cluinn. With a grimace I shrugged out of them, gripping them in my hand, not wanting to draw any attention to myself.

I could hear the penultimate song echoing out in the background and hurried on, not easy in sandals on damp grass. Grabbing the bags I sped back to the stage, pausing to locate my lift back to London and dumping the luggage in the back of the large black Land Rover, before once again racing back to the wings. No sign of Devlin anymore.

There was a huge cheering from the crowd as the band took their bows, having played solidly for over an hour. Seeing me standing there, Jim came and grabbed my arm, pulling me back onto the stage where the crowd once again went wild, chanting and crying, screaming and clapping the roar huge as thousands of people showed their appreciation.

Finally we were able to leave the stage, the band trooping off; accepting the towels handed to them to wipe the sweat off their faces – although Richard was unable to do much with his elaborate mask. With the bustle backstage I could barely approach him, separated by several people and could only watch as he took a step forward; his long legs buckling under him and he fell to the floor in a faint – my gasp of horror echoing in my ears.


	32. Chapter 32

**This story is writing itself - I cannot type quickly enough! Gonna' dedicate this chapter to someone who is lying in bed with a sore back and is reading this story. S - this is for you XX.**

Chapter Thirty-Two

Silence marked my entrance into work on Monday morning. The moment I stepped through the door the normally busy humming office fell quiet and everyone stared at me as I walked past to my desk. Cheeks burning red; I kept my head down unused to such scrutiny. Suddenly the silence was broken, replaced with clapping and cheering.

As I approached my desk I noticed a huge bunch of flowers residing on the wood, a classy mix of roses, tulips and other things I couldn't identify all bound in raffia and held in water. It was like being a star, only I wasn't quite sure why. Tatty stood up at the desk opposite mine. "What's all this for?" I asked in confusion, embarrassed by all the attention I was receiving.

"You're famous!" She answered back, waving at the rest of our colleagues to be quiet. "The flowers are from Charlie, he was so impressed by your performance on Friday night. Says it is the biggest PR coup this company has seen!"

"Oh!" I had been so taken up with nursing Ric all weekend and sorting out the tangled web of cancelled interviews and appearances that Friday had faded into insignificance, nothing more then a rather fantastic dream. "Did you watch it then?"

"We all did, had it up on the screens in the meeting rooms, cheering you on. I never knew you could sing so well Izzy – you were totally fantastic. And I loved your costume, really cute."

"Hmm," another monosyllabic reply to her praise. My costume, such as it was; had been sweaty and stinky by the time I reached home. Richard had continued to retch in the car and I had spent most of the journey cradling his head in my lap as he alternately dozed and groaned, making us stop every so often to throw up by the side of the road.

Paramedics had surrounded him as soon as he fainted, transferring him to a stretcher and taking him off to the backstage first aid. Obviously Dev had taken my comment in and that was where he had disappeared to. For a brief moment I was totally grateful. Richard had thankfully only been in a light faint, mainly due to heat exhaustion and dehydration the nurse had told me. He went on to tactfully suggested that the Phantom removed his mask as it was trapping in unnecessary heat and then quizzed him intensely about drug and alcohol misuse. Ric just sat on the gurney, his head in his hands, shaking it silently. Food poisoning seemed to be the mundane culprit of his sorry state, not an excess of living; apparently not uncommon given the conditions.

Therefore he was discharged with the advice to go to bed, do nothing, drink water and wait it out. There was little that could be done, unless he wanted to take Dev's view and be admitted to hospital and stuck on a drip. Unsurprisingly Richard chose the first option and half an hour later we were being driven back to London in a sorry state.

The unromantic return home had caused me to forget about my own worries and problems and focus instead on my boyfriend, who was very much the worse for wear. My suitcase stood to attention abandoned by the front door, but I ignored it and concentrated on helping Richard instead. I managed to get him into bed, bucket by the side and speak to his Grandmother for advice on what to do. "The foolish lad," had been her diagnosis. "He should never have sung on stage if he felt like that. But then he had always had more stubbornness then sense." She had told me to give him rehydration drinks and in similarity to the advice of earlier, just wait it out and be patient. "He will feel quite horrible for about forty-eight hours. When he starts getting grumpy then you know he is on the mend!"

She was totally accurate for he had barely registered anything until the Monday morning. When I had gone in with the mixture in my hand he scowled. "Not another one – that is all you have let me drink all bloody weekend. Can't I have a cup of tea?"

"Yes, as long as you drink this first – all of it. And you can have some marmite toast. If you keep that down you are allowed to get up and slob on the sofa all day!"

"Oh deep joy," he muttered sarcastically, taking the glass from my hand and sipping it, pulling a face at the strange taste. "God this is foul!" I stood at the end of the spare bed (hadn't allowed him back to share mine) and watch with narrowed eyes and crossed arms in a good imitation of a ward sister.

However half an hour later I left him tucked up on the sofa, remote on the table in front of him with some dry toast that I had scrapped the barest amount of marmite on to. He flopped back against the cushions looking weary and I realised that whilst he was on the mend, he was not back to full health.

"So was it amazing then?" Tatty broke into my thoughts as I stood reading the card on the bouquet and musing over the weekend.

"Yes," I admitted looking up with a smile. "I can't describe it Tat, but I am bloody glad it is over and I plan to never sing on stage like that again. I've fulfilled my half of the deal and they are not getting anymore out of me. I shall save my voice for Karaoke evenings only!" She laughed at my comment.

"You'd better tell that to Charlie before he starts selling you as the singing accounts director! He is as pleased as punch you – would like you to go on stage at all the shows. You know there was a five hundred percent increase in web traffic to the site after the performance?"

"Really?" I let out a small pleased smile at the information. That was much more pleasing to hear then gushing about my singing. "I had better check the message boards and then I've got to get some meetings rebooked because..." I paused, not sure if it was general knowledge that the lead singer of Cluinn had collapsed off stage after the performance. Thankfully Tatiana was diverted and only half listening to my list of chores. I didn't continue, instead moved the elaborate bouquet to one side of my desk and sat down, firing up my computer.

I worked steadily all morning, managing to divert any gossip and fix some more interviews up for the band. It was amazing how their performance at Glastonbury had introduced them to an even wider audience for the constant flow of messages into my inbox had now become a flood.

It was one o'clock before I sat up and realised the time, the morning had flown by and I hadn't even checked in on Ric. As I sat up and stretched wondering if my boyfriend would be asleep and appreciate my call; my phone beeped with a text message.

_Meet me outside, five minutes. R x. _The brief message made me mentally fume for a bit angry that he had got dressed and come out, but then curiosity got the better of me and I stepped outside the building, telling my colleagues I was going to get some lunch.

He was leaning against the wall, sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled down low on his head, the invisible prosthetic hiding his noticeable scar. His long legs stuck out from a pair of khaki three-quarter length trousers and he wore a white t-shirt on his top. He was as inconspicuous as they came; no one even gave him a second glance. As I approached he turned and looked at me, a smile spreading across his face, widening as he caught sight of my frown. "Izzy!" He took me in his arms and kissed me on the lips before I could utter a single word, kissing the resistance and annoyance out of me.

"What are you doing here? I told you to lie on the sofa all day!"

"I've been horizontal for the whole weekend," he replied. "Which is longest I have been still for ages. It was boring, so I decided to come and see you and take you out for a picnic lunch." He swung a carrier bag he held by his side. "The park is just around the corner." For once I was at a lose for words and he smiled his charming smile, took my arm in his and we strolled around the corner to sit under a tree.

"How are you feeling anyway?" I asked with concern, watching as he laid out a spread of food that I didn't think would be good for his sensitive digestion.

"Fine, totally fine – actually hungry, for the first time in three days. And I haven't been sick all morning, hence breaking quarantine and risking the sharp shooters to come and see you." He paused and absent mindedly rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as we sat down on the grass. "I actually wanted to come and say thank you Izzy," he added quietly. I looked at him and remained silent, holding him in my vision; surprised but glad of the admission. "You've been amazing, not just this weekend, but for so long before. I know I am crap at saying thank you and I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate it, 'cause I do!"

I smiled at his little speech, a warm glow building in the pit of my stomach, embarrassed slightly by his words, but glad at the same time for it put to rest all the demons that shouted whenever he was less then charming. "You put yourself under a lot of pressure Ric," I said levelly, determined not to throw myself into his arms just because he showed his appreciation. "I know that you cannot control some of it, but if you had been sensible you would have cancelled your appearance on Friday."

A cross between a grimace and a frown flashed across his face and he nodded slowly. "Aye and maybe if I was as famous as Bono or Madonna I could do that and survive, but I'm not. Like you've said before we are performers and that is our job. If you had a dodgy tummy, you would probably still try and go into work wouldn't you?"

"Well, yeah," I admitted. "But then the chance of me passing out in front of a huge crowd and on live television isn't quite so high." He snorted slightly.

"I actually don't know how I got through the set. I don't really remember much of it, just thinking that I must get off stage before I let go. And then when I did I..." he frowned. "You know that bit is all a blur. I do remember throwing up in your lap on the way home though. Guess we're even now on that score."

"Humph," I snorted, blushing red at the memories before falling silent. "That all seems so long ago now doesn't it?" I was referring back to the summer of last year when we had danced around our attraction. I felt like such a different person now, more mature; sensible and level headed and I knew that being with Ric had been a major cause in my transformation. He didn't expect or allow me to be anything else.

"Well it is a year, give or take a few days. We've known each other a whole year Iz, can you believe that? It seems to have flown by." He leant back on his elbow and took my left hand in his, studying it with an idle curiosity that caused me to frown at his actions.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing, he said, unlocking his fingers from mine, where he had woven them. "I just thought you had decently long fingers – can you play the guitar?" I laughed.

"What, as I refuse to sing with the band anymore you want me to play guitar instead?"

"Oh aye, that would be a good idea. I wouldn't have to play the rhythm anymore, just sing. Make my life a bit easier." He puffed some air through his cheeks and popped a cherry tomato in, giving a small groan as he did. "Oh, real food – forgot how good it tastes. Here you want one?" He held out a tomato to me and I took it in my teeth from his proffered hand causing him to snatch his fingers back. "Don't do that you little minx or I will have you in the park here and now under this very tree," he added, his tone of voice casual, but his gaze intense and burning; his lips in a leer. I chuckled slightly.

"I'm looking forward to being able to do it in a bed with enough room for the both of us and without an audience of six other men," I added with a raised eyebrow and an equally salacious smile on my face. "I like a bit of privacy. If I go to another concert I think we should follow Jim and Alanya's lead and hire our own camper. I dread to consider what the crew must think of me!" He shrugged.

"Nothing, you are totally normal. I promise they are hardened men and have seen and done everything. You'd be amazed at what some people, women especially; will do to try and get backstage and be with their idols. It is quite sickening that they will sell themselves so low." He remained silent for a while, a cloud crossing over his eyes as if he was remembering something, before snapping out of it. "Anyway, we aren't staying the night at T, that's the joy of being in Scotland; it's only an hour from Jim's parents, so we are going to crash the night there, give the bus over to the crew so they don't have to camp!"

"Sounds much more civilised," I agreed with him; noticing that he was looking down at the ground. "And what else?"

"Well," he seemed unwilling to voice it. "I thought I might stay up for a bit afterwards, Izzy. I need to finish my dissertation off and if I try and do it down here I will get distracted by the boys, Dev; other stuff. It will be much better if I hunker down at my Grandparents for a couple of weeks then I should be able to get it all typed up and ready to be handed in before August – won't get much of a chance after that and I don't want it sitting on my shoulders." I felt my emotions fall slightly, two weeks apart; but I didn't let it show on my face.

"Okay, are you saying you want me to help you free up your schedule for those couple of weeks?" He nodded and smiled slightly.

"I actually don't think you should even bother coming up for T," he added in a rush. "I mean it's a long way to go and expensive and I literally am just planning to perform; go home and bury myself in my books. No fun at all!"

"Oh," I hesitated wondering where this suggestion had come from, why he didn't want me there. "Are you saying you don't want me there or that you don't think I should be there?"

"What's the difference?" He narrowed his eyes. "I am saying I don't want you to go to loads of expense to fly up to Scotland to stand and watch us for two hours because you feel you should. Of course I _want_ you to be there." He smiled slightly. "And I might be able to persuade you to sing again..." His smile changed to a laugh as I aimed a blow at his midriff. He retaliated by making a lunge for me and grabbing my face between his hands kissed me long and hard. "Like I've said before Izzy, you are a wonderful person and I am just trying to absolve you of some responsibility. I know you don't like following the band around and this is actually one opportunity you don't have to." He shook his head. "It just came out all wrong."

"Totally. But if that is how you feel, then it's fine." I shrugged. "I have quite a lot of catching up to do, the message boards on the website are going mad – there is a horrendous rumour that Phantom may be ill in hospital. You might want to pass by there and quash them with a bit of a hello, you are alive and well."

"Actually, the Phantom is back in his box until next time," Richard laughed uneasily. "Isn't that what you said Dev was trying to do? It's succeeding. Stop playing at Phantom, time to concentrate on being Richard now," I can almost here my Grandmother saying it to me. I have my research presentation in a few days and need to concentrate on that instead, then a week of rehearsals for T and my dissertation." He ate another tomato; a sum total of two had passed for his lunch so far. "Not much time – again." This time my smile was sad and wistful.

"No. But," I brightened up. "Tonight, I am laying claim to you as mine!"

* * *

True to his word, the very next day Richard was up and working again. The fallout of three days to himself meant that he was as busy as ever, trying to make up lost ground from leaving Glastonbury early. Thankfully the festival only officially ended on Monday and so people were still buoyed up by the weekend and I was able to get an autograph signing event for them with ease, plus a second radio appearance. Otherwise he was free to once again immerse himself in his books.

He went off to his dissertation presentation with apparent calm. To appear in front of a panel of three and discuss a theory was simple for him compared to the usual audiences he played to and he returned home with a happy smile and a spring in his step. "Loved it," was his comment when I enquired how it went, before his face fell. "Okay, they didn't exactly love it as it is not a nice topic, but they were very enthusiastic as to my findings and the conclusions I was leaning to – which is a relief as it means I don't have to do vast amounts of rewriting." He looked up at me from his prone position on the couch. "Although at the end, one of the lecturers did look at me strangely and ask what I was planning on doing this summer. I wonder if she realised..." His forehead was pulled into a frown and I glanced over looking him up and down. He was wearing his invisible mask and glasses, dressed like the student he was.

"No, I don't think so," she was probably just being polite. You are getting paranoid Ric."

"So would you if you were mobbed walking into a record shop," he responded, bringing up the incident two days ago when the security could barely control the crowds who gathered in HMV on Oxford street for the signing.

"The price of fame darling," I replied flippantly. "Now, before you turn back into Phantom can we please go out for a meal – I am absolutely starving!" He had laughed and climbing off the sofa had agreed.

Despite my light hearted tone, I was slightly worried that I might have caught some sort of bug off Ric after his bout of food poisoning. I had been feeling slightly off colour for a while, more or less since the week after Glastonbury. My symptoms were not as serve as the ones he suffered from, but from time to time I had a sharp pain in my groin and the sight and smell of anything consumable simply made me want to gag, where as there were moments when I just craved food – lots of it and whatever I could lay my hands on. At that moment in time it was pizza.

Yet symptoms did not seem to subside as quickly as his had and nearly three weeks later, after he had been in Scotland for over I week; I shared my worry with him. We spoke every evening and that night was no different as I lay on the sofa idly munching my way through a bag of tortilla chips – not a healthy supper.

He was making huge inroads into writing his dissertation he had told me during our conversation, adding that it should be completed a couple of days earlier then expected and that he would fly back as soon as he was finished – it was getting claustrophobic being there, his Grandmother doting on his every need.

"Ric," I asked, interrupting his gentle flow of conversation. "When you were ill the other weekend, how did you feel? Did it come on gradually or were you suddenly sick?"

"Huh? What do you mean Iz?" Confusion sounded in his voice.

"Well, you know I said I was under the weather the other day. I'm still just not feeling that great and I was wondering, you know if you can catch the bug that causes food poisoning."

"I don't think so, hang on a sec I'll ask Gram." He muted the phone and I held for a moment, stuffing a vast quantity of chips and dip into my mouth as I waited. He was back very quickly. "Not really," he picked up the conversation. "Although apparently voming can leave bugs everywhere and she said you must sterilise all the door handles and the loo seat and stuff. It might make you feel a bit queasy for a while as well. Does that sound about right?"

"Yeah". I felt relief flood through my body at my malady being diagnosed.

"Oh poor you, just baton down the hatches and lay low for a bit," he counselled. "At least the Cluinn account shouldn't be giving you any headaches at the moment."

"No, it's not. Although I have managed to get myself involved with PR for the Brits as well – perfect account for me, at least according to Charlie that is."

"Oh god – so do you find out the nominations beforehand?" His voice sounded excited by the thought and I smiled at the sound.

"I should be so lucky. No, much more making sure there is no controversy and that it is all displayed in the right places blah blah blah, the usual." I sighed and yawned. "Listen I had better love you and say goodbye, I am beat." We finished our conversation and I could only find enough energy to pull myself into bed, waking up in the middle of the night only to use the loo.

As I trundled into work I mused over my sudden bout of illness, vowing to buy myself all the disinfectant I could and clean the house from top to bottom. That morning I had woken feeling as if I were aboard a ship in a storm, my stomach rolling and heaving around – the thought of getting up impossible, until I was driven from my bed with the need to be sick. A sweaty ten minutes spent clutching the porcelain and I started to feel better, equilibrium returning to my body. Maybe it was psychosomatic after the conversation last night and my snack food supper.

Thankfully the symptoms eased during the day and I was able to concentrate on my work, the rolling in my stomach settling and I actually started to feel hungry. I just about managed to make it to midday before practically running to the shop for a sandwich. "You feel all right?" Tatiana asked, watching me munch my way through a huge ham and cheese bap and demolish a chocolate bar – very out of the ordinary with my diet.

"I was feeling sick this morning, so now am starving," I smiled at her in between mouthfuls, not wanting her to think that I was moping in anyway.

"That's good. So you'll feel all right to come out at the weekend then? You did remember didn't you?" She added as I looked at her blankly.

"Yeah!" I said brightly to cover the fact that I had forgotten. She had issued the invitation several weeks before, but unsure of Cluinn's movement at the time I had been non committal about attendance, not wishing to incite another argument with Ric about choosing other people over being with him. But Richard was now in Scotland and I was quite bored and lonely being at home by myself. I had even gone as far as seeking out the companionship of the rest of the band in order to fill the empty space in my flat and my life, much to their amusement.

"We have a table booked at The Ivy, boring I know, but it Mum's favourite and we'd really like you to be there." She paused and assessed me. "You could even bring Phantom if you wanted to!"

"What, why?" I answered sharply, looking up from the perusal of my sandwich to throw her a glare. "Why would he want to come?" She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant but failing and I got an inkling that he would add a degree of glamour to this dinner.

"You know, he's your flatmate, might not be doing anything on a Saturday evening and wants to come out with you."

"I can say without a shadow of a doubt that he's busy Tat," I answered with a sigh. "No hope there, sorry." I threw her a smile to try and hide my over reaction.

"Well, it was worth a try. It would be a bit of a coup, have the lead singer of the group of the moment at my birthday party!" She laughed. "And I am always amazed that there is nothing going on between you two. Like I said, how can you keep your hands off him? Unless, does he have a girlfriend – isn't there that model that one of them is dating?"

"Alanya Palmer," I replied "and she is actually engaged to Jim McCullough, the lead guitarist. And yes Phantom does have a girlfriend, but he doesn't want the world to know, hence keeping it quiet – a bit like his name!" This was a circular conversation with us. Tatiana was proving herself to be an ardent fan and continually milked me for information, some of which I let slip; just enough to keep her quiet. I let a silent apology go for my latest falsehood, justifying it with the fact that Phantom did have a girlfriend, it happened to be me.

"Damn, I owe Ralph ten quid now," she said, slamming her hand down on her desk. "He said definitely, there was no way that man would be single and you keep your distance. And he was right! How annoying!" I laughed at her aggravation, glad to have put her off the scent again.

"Which is more annoying, owing your brother money, or the fact that he's right?" I asked an amused smile on my face.

"The fact that he was correct," she growled. "I don't like him to have the upper hand; it goes to that big head of his." I had realised over the past few months working at T&W that the siblings were in fact quite close. Despite there being four years difference in age, Tatiana was very protective over her little brother, as she sometimes teasingly referred to him. She claimed that their parents had been disinterested when they were growing up, their Father much more into his job and their Mother into her charities, committees and house keeping. They had spent most of their time together until the watchful eye of a nanny and housekeeper. It made me slightly sad, for two talented young people to have so much; to have achieved so much and yet be denied the love and admiration of their parents. It seemed a harsh truth under the outwardly glittering lifestyle.

"How many are going out to dinner then?" I asked trying to change the topic of conversation towards something potentially less explosive.

"Oh, um – Daddy, Mum, Ralph, my cousins, Will and you, a few friends. Nothing too big – only about ten of us. Have to do the parental bit and then we can go on to a club and the oldies trundle off home – sound like fun?" I assimilated the information and considered. Life had been a bit boring the past few weeks; it would be good to shake things up a little.

"Yeah, I agreed. "Sounds like fun."

* * *

From the moment I walked into the famous restaurant, stomach growling at the thought of food, I knew I had made a mistake. The intimate family party seemed to have shrunk and the ten or so people were now only Tatiana's family and myself. "My cousins pulled out," she hissed to me as I sat down. Only this morning, so bloody typical of them. And Will cried off with work even though it is a Saturday evening." Will was Tatiana's latest commit-phobe of a boyfriend. It didn't make for an auspicious start to the evening.

Of course the food was marvellous, the wine flowed and we all ate our fill and more. Switching wildly between being absolutely starving and feeling (even being) nauseous, I was glad that my constitution was on a healthy tack and I could indulge in the beautifully cooked and presented food. Our party of five dinned late into the evening, the bill quietly paid (far too vulgar too discuss money) and we separated from their parents, choosing instead to go on to a nightclub, Tatiana vetoing Annabel's as she claimed she wanted somewhere to dance.

Exhaustion poured over me in waves, but determined not to replicate my behaviour of last time, I agreed and we ended up in Zoo, amidst a huge throng of people all celebrating the weekend. The music was loud and pounding, dance floor filling tunes; a far cry from the rock music that dominated my life and I threw myself into it.

We were dancing on the crowded floor when I felt a male body slip up against the back of mine, echoing my movements, so his groin followed my bottom as I gyrated and danced to the music. I tried to move away but a strong arm wrapped itself around my waist holding me against him. A glance over my shoulder confirmed it was Ralph, a very drunk Ralph. However the sensation was not unpleasant and my traitorous alcohol fuelled body was turned on by the action. I never dance with Ric like this and it was sexy, intimate and I could feel his erection digging into my back as we moved. As the song effortlessly slipped into another beat his mouth came down on my neck, his arm still holding me against him and he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin. His lips and tongue lazily trailed across my neck and shoulders, sending shivers down my spine. He then turned my head and kissed me deeply on the mouth.

I was unable to move, pinned to his body as he held me, hemmed in on the crowded dance floor, the music too loud to make conversation for me to stop him and he continued his actions, laughing slightly at my struggle to get out of his grasp; flailing like a fish out of water and desperately looking around for his sister, who was currently engaged in a bit of tonsil hockey of her own.

"God Izzy, you amazing woman," he slurred in my ear. "You are such a sexy little minx," he ran a hand down off my shoulder and onto my breast, my nipples responding at the touch, my skin alive with having a man's hands on me. I hadn't had sex in over three weeks and suddenly my hormones wanted to know why and demanded that this man provide it.

But my heart refused and I knew that I could not betray Richard in such a way. However Ralph was determinedly drunk and I wasn't quite sure how to stop him. "Ralph, I really think it's time I went home," I said using mammoth effort to pull myself out of his grasp and move off the dance floor. He followed me with a hangdog expression.

"Okay, let's go back to mine for nightcaps, it's closest," he slurred with a smile. "Wait here and I'll get Tat!" My body relaxed slightly at the mention of his sister. She could be the unwitting chaperon in this little escapade because my only other option would be to cut him dead and run from the nightclub, not a good idea considering I had to work side by side with his sibling. It could make for an awkward atmosphere.

He pulled his sister from the fray and he drunkenly hailed a cab back to his flat. A classy bachelor pad near Hyde Park, I dare not think of the cost. I knew his sister had something similar only a few streets away. We gathered in the living room where I curled up on the corner of the sofa. Two am in the morning was late for me, especially recently when I had been feeling so under the weather. Tatty poured spirits and I sipped a cup of tea and listened to the siblings chat and talk, waves of heaviness pouring over me, my eyelids growing heavier by the minute and before I knew what I was doing, fell asleep on the sofa.


	33. Chapter 33

**Okay, a bit longer again as I haven't had too much typing time. For those of you who are going back and reading back chapters you may notice that I have made some minor alterations - the trouble with posting a chapter at a time is that it is hard to edit as the story grows and continues. Half the time I don't know what my characters are doing, let alone the reader! The main change I have made is that Ric has been demoted in age to twenty-seven, still older then Izzy by a full three years and a lot more mature, but still young enough to have freedom and nearer twenty-one then forty (oh I remember those days!). Anyway, enough blabbering - on with the story - please review, it was so gratifying to see all the ones pouring into my inbox last week. Enjoy - Pips xoxo**

Chapter 33

I woke up with a headache and a nauseous stomach my eyelids weighed down with tiredness and unremoved makeup. Cracking them open a glint, I took in the light filled room around me before closing them again with weariness. They sprang open a second later as my brain digested the view it had witnessed. This was not my bed or my bedroom.

The sound of snoring echoed through the space and I turned my head a crack trying to see what or who was making such a racket. I could tell without looking that it wasn't Ric. He didn't snore in such a belly trembling way, the noise spoke of too much alcohol and fatty foods, lots of dairy and untrained breathing. A pile of blonde hair lay on the pillow next to me and I blanched at the sight of it. I was in bed with the blonde buffoon!

Dread flooded through me as I wrestled with the duvet cover, kicking it back with my legs in slight desperation before taking a look down at my body. Cautious relief tempered my emotions as I saw that I was still dressed in knickers and a small vest top I had been wearing under my shirt the night before. Surely the fact that I was still wearing clothes on my body could only be a good sign.

With a trembling hand I reached down and touched the bottom sheet, soft and warm beneath my fingertips which I then pushed against the cotton pants I was wearing – the same, no sticky mess suggesting that there had been carnal relations. There did not seem to be any other evidence of sex either, no condom wrappers flung to the carpet, or tissues littering the floor - not that my experiments were foolproof. Without the aid of a microscope or at the very least answers from the man who lay next to me, I could not be sure. However my head did not hurt with the rhythm of drinking to oblivion, I was too aware; too awake and had I been drunk enough to suffer such memory loss, I knew I would be feeling the results.

What I was suffering from however was my usual _mal de mer_ and the rolling in my stomach demanded that I slide out of bed and find a loo – quickly. I made it just in time, collapsing on the cool tiled floor in a heap, resting my head against the stone and clutching my stomach, waiting for the sensation to pass. It always did, I was learning to live with this digestive nightmare.

Standing up shakily I glanced at myself in the mirror, noting the bed hair. By all means I should have had a pallid complexion, bags under my eyes that reached my knees and the shakes. Instead I was glowing with health and vivacity, looking as if I was ready for a stroll along the beach, not as if I had just been hanging over a toilet. Rinsing my mouth out and cleaning my teeth I smartened myself up, not wanting to face Ralph in such a state of dishabille, lest he get the wrong idea and think my undress was a signal to him. He had been charmingly determined most of yesterday evening, the charming part slipping away the more alcohol he had consumed. His actions of last night had made one thing quite clear to me – I was not attracted to this man, not in the slightest.

Of course my body in a basic 'me woman, you man, lets reproduce' way had other ideas, but there was something in his manner that held me back. It seemed to be revealed when he was with his family, more then alone by himself, but they were hints of the spoilt little boy in him. The night before he had briefly sulked when his mother had rejected his choice of wine; had sat there pouting, actually pouting as he hadn't got his own way. He incessantly teased his sister, acting as if they were still in single digits for their age and treated his parents with a lazy indolence, bordering on rudeness.

I knew I shouldn't judge for I did not know the delicate web that binds a family together, the history; politics and relationships that keep parents and children moving along. Yet his outward behaviour, especially considering that I was present and not even an extend relative struck me as being immature and churlish. Not a man I wished to have a relationship with, however good looking and successful he was!

I slid out the ensuite bathroom; the incessant snores letting me know that my bed partner was still in the land of nod. With a hasty glance I noted the trousers that I had worn last night and the filmy shirt over the top and got dressed in record time, I left the room and snuck through the house, my stomach growling with every increasing noise, needing something to settle the nausea.

The sunlight was streaming through the large sash windows that paraded across the front of the flat, shining light onto the classy bachelor pad, decorated in a preppy masculine style – all leather sofas and silk rugs with black and white photos cleverly arranged on the walls. Money and taste had decked out these rooms in a professional way, a far cry from the cluttered homey feel of my flat, made worse by the trail of belongings that Richard seemed to leave everywhere. I spent most of my days tripping up over shoes, moving piles of text books or music magazines and squashing more abandoned clothing into the wash basket. I couldn't imagine doing that in a flat like this – you couldn't dare be untidy amongst such splendour.

The kitchen was the same, chrome and polish with expensive looking gadgets sparsely placed along the counter. Not the sort of place you could cook in, the thought of dropping ribbons of tomato ketchup or trails of béchamel along the gleaming black granite worktops was an affront to the design. How dare you cook in this kitchen? I snorted at the image my imagination presented and gingerly opened cupboards and drawers, locating my essentials – toast needed to calm my stomach and a cup of tea.

I leant against the counter, silently munching on the dry food that I found was the best thing for me on waking. The silence of the day was soothing and I closed my eyes soaking it up, finding a little peace in my unusual situation, wishing that Richard was there so I could share it with him, before the rational side of my brain kicked in and I snorted at myself. He would hardly be with me in another man's flat!

With this thought came the realization that I should not be hanging around. Fate had offered me the opportunity to make a clean and polite getaway and there I was idling about, eating breakfast and making a racket that could probably wake the dead. The thought spurred me into action and throwing the last mouthful in the bin, I hastened to leave.

But my good luck had run out and as I moved to the front door it opened and I was confronted with my colleague standing there, holding a carrier bag. "Hi Izzy," she said a wide smile spreading over her face. "Glad you're still here, wasn't sure. I've bought croissant, come and have some."

"Yeah," I muttered, looking around wildly, my face colouring with embarrassment. She was obviously jumping to conclusions and I didn't want her to go there. "Tat?" I followed her back to the kitchen where she had put on the oven and was sliding the pastries in to warm.

"Yup." Her tone was distracted, attention on the food.

"Um, do you know, how did I… what time did we get to bed last night?" I stammered out the question, not wanting her to think I was a floozy, jumping into bed with her brother, but at the same time needing some reassurance that I hadn't carried out sexual acts. I didn't think so, but I needed to know.

"Ha, you fell asleep on the sofa about two and Ralph put you to bed. I think we crashed about four. I forgot you were a lightweight!" She chuckled hoarsely, her voice thickened by the smoking and drinking she had indulged in last night. "God, Ralph and I were so wasted – you seemed not so bad though."

"I tried not to drink so much last night, you know haven't been feeling so great of late," I said slightly coolly, not enjoying the conversation or wanting to have a girly gossip as Tatiana was prone to do. To admit that I wasn't even sure if her brother and I had sex would be a flag to her teasing side. I was cornered even more as our hesitant conversation was interrupted by the sound of foot steps and a tossled haired man wrapped in a thick blue dressing down wandered into the kitchen.

"Hey Tat," he said before pausing and looking me up and down, a smile spreading across his face. "Hello Izzy!" His voice was warm and welcoming with just the slightest note of triumph parading across the tone. He took me in his arms, pressing his body against mine, separated by the thickness of the robe and nuzzled my cheek. I held myself rigid in his arms and he must have sensed my reluctance as he took a step back, his face falling as he nodded. He understood what my body language had told him – I didn't want to know.

"Um, I don't think I can stay for breakfast I am afraid," I apologised to both of them, my gaze swinging between brother and sister, too embarrassed to settle and meet either of their eyes. "I had better get going, so much to do today and you know…"

"Are you sure Izzy, it's already one o'clock you know." Tatiana interrupted with a knowing glance at her brother. "We were going to go out for Bloody Marys and a fry-up – need it after last night."

"Oh, is it that late? Nope must really be going and um, thank you so much for last night and letting me stay." My tone of voice was jerky, showing my stressed state. "I'll see you tomorrow Tat and Ralph, um soon I guess. So, bye…" I didn't dare kiss either of them farewell and so gave a silly little wave turned on my heel and fled the flat, not stopping to let myself think about it until I reached home.

There I sunk into my chair, my cheeks two flags of flaming colour, embarrassed and unsettled by the situation. In my heart of hearts I was sure that I had not slept with Ralph, but I didn't know and until I found out I felt like I was betraying Ric. My emotions, already riding so close to the surface got the better of me and drawing my knees up to my chest I sat there and cried my heart out.

I was so fed up of being alone. I missed Richard dreadfully; even his sarky comments and moody behaviour would be a welcome relief to the emptiness that occupied my flat. Mags and I had drifted apart over the months, both of us weighed down by our own responsibilities of work and love and whilst we e-mailed each other, she was no longer there to pop around at a moment's notice. Alanya was proving to be a good friend, but she too had other matters and her job took her all around the world, having her photograph taken in Barbados one week and Iceland the next.

* * *

I somehow floated through the next week, feeling sick one minute and full of life the next. Exhausted from early on the evening, I sometimes had to force myself to be awake to call Richard and talk about our day. I studiously avoided mentioning the awkward situation of the weekend with Tatiana, changing subjects with little tact whenever she bought the topic up and finding a hundred things to do away from my desk whenever the idle conversation turned to her brother.

The final straw to my misery came eight days later, after another wretched weekend most of which was spent lazing around, finding it hard to gather the energy to get up properly and do something. Finally at my old colleague; Rachel's insistence, I pulled some clothes on to go and meet her and see a movie. I pulled on my jeans, breathing in as I did the button up, feeling the waistband tighten uncomfortably in a girdle like grip. I look down at them in disgust, at the small roll of fat that bulged out the top and frowned.

Like so many women, I had a nodding acquaintance with just about every diet ever invented, trying to keep my weight at no more then nine stone. Usually it was a failing battle and my scales constantly crept up by another five or six pound. Today when I dared face them the horrid truth hit me that I was nine stone and eight pounds – one hundred and thirty-four pounds of flab it felt like! I stepped off the scales in disgust, vowing that I would no longer treat myself to all the snacks I had been stuffing in my mouth. Pizza, crisps – huge sandwiches – they all had to go as I could no longer continue on the horrific carbohydrate fest that I had been indulging in. From today it would be fruit and vegetables with lean protein only. If I put on anymore weight I would probably crush Ric when he came home, he couldn't weight that much more then I did.

Twenty-four hours later, feeling slightly light-headed with the lack of food I had eaten during day and exhausted to boot, I managed to drag myself home from work. The flat was still empty and I hated the echoing silence that greeted me. Accompanying this was the washing machine beeping quietly a puddle of water in front of it.

"Oh shit," I cried, taking in the situation and grabbing the tea towel on the side, throwing it on the floor and trying to mop the liquid up. Half an hour later the floor was clean, but the machine was stuck in mid-cycle a light blinking ominously at me in reproach that I had dare let it break. "Just bloody well work why don't you?" I cried, kicking it with my foot, as if it would cure the problem. There was no response and I pressed the start button again, hoping to spur it into action. Unsurprisingly it did nothing and I hit it again, tiredness getting the better of me so that I crumpled to the floor, leant my head against a cupboard door and gave in to noisy sobs.

"Hey, hey, Izzy." I felt a strong arm circle round me, cradling me close to a warm chest, my face pressed against a soft t-shirt, the slightly spicy sent of aftershave filling my nostrils. I flung my arms around his waist, briefly wondering if I was dreaming. But the strong muscular arms that pulled me to standing with him were real and the fingers that brushed away my tears had calloused fingertips from playing the guitar.

I stayed there for a while, my tears drying softening to the odd sobs, accompanied by hiccups as Richard gently rubbed my back, listening to me sniff. As these subsided he moved slowly into the living room. "Why were you crying Izzy?" he asked gently, softly; looking down at me with infinite tenderness in his eyes, magnified by his glasses.

"The washing machine was broken," I muttered, the words sounding silly even to my ears.

"The washing machine broke," he repeated with amazement and relief. "I thought you had received some really bad news, been fired or something."

"No, no," I shook my head. "It was just the final straw of a bad day; a bad week."

"It's only Monday," he interjected softly, a smile on his face, teasing me slightly, getting me to crack a smile which I did with a slight laugh at my own stupidity, blushing and dropping my head. I raised it again slowly drinking him in, re-associating myself with his presence, the space he filled in front of me, the vibrancy of his being. As always when he came back from his grandparents he glowed with the care they lavished upon him, the fact that nothing was expected of him but to be a young man with few worries in the world and not a popstar on a trajectory to stardom. He was Richard the student, clever; hardworking and anonymous, not Phantom the lead singer of Cluinn. He was my lover and boyfriend as he once again wrapped his arms around me holding me close and hugged me to him, dropping his head and tilting my chin up for a long drenching kiss.

"When did you get back?" I finally asked, my tears dried up my equilibrium restored by his presence.

"The afternoon flight, about four; but I headed straight into town and got my dissertation bound. Wanna' see?" I nodded and we moved as one over to the table where he drew a hard bound book out of a plastic carrier, handing it to me.

"Oh god," I breathed taking the thick dissertation off him, admiring the gold lettering of his name up the spine, the college coat of arms pressed into the front with the title, flicking carefully through the pages at the paragraphs of text, the professional footnotes. It was an amazing piece of work, reminding me of the papers I had briefly studied at university. I wrapped my free arm around his back, running my hand up and down, absent mindedly feeling his spine flex and move with my gently tickling movements as I flicked through the thick paper with the other hand.

"Ouch," he flinched away from me as my hand travelled up his towards his neck and I paused in my reading to frown up at him, wondering what caused the movement. "I just have a bruise..." he looked down at my silent question and I smiled slightly at him, pushing his t-shirt up to have a look. There; on the upper shoulder blade opposite to his tattoo was a small scar, about five centimetres in length. It had obviously been tended to, held closed with neat steri-stripes and healing cleaning, but whatever had caused it must have hurt.

"How did you do that?" I let the paper swing closed and lifted his t-shirt up fully to get a closer look, frowning.

"At T," he said with a sigh, shrugging his shoulder slightly under my touch. "I backed into some scaffolding backstage and yes, it hurt and bled!"

"Oh god, Ric! You seem to meet a lot of bad luck at festivals, don't you? I think you had better avoid them." I kept my tone light, teasing and watched as his face relaxed into a smile.

"Guess I am jinxed. At least this happened after our set." He stole a kiss off me again, grabbing his dissertation and sliding it back into the carrier bag. "That's it then, two years of study finished – I am going to hand it in tomorrow."

"How does that make you feel?" I caught the wistful look he passed over the blue cover.

"Glad, but sad at the same time. I sort of felt the same way when we finished recording the album. You live with something for so long and when it stops there is this hole. Life shifts and fills it again, but for a few moments there is nothing," he shrugged. "But it is nice to get it out the way, to not have to keep focusing on it."

"Or to focus on the reasons for doing it," I added quietly.

"Yeah," his voice cracked slightly and he inhaled deeply, briefly closing his eyes. "But I live with the truth every day of my life, every time I look in the fucking mirror," the words came out strained and quiet. "Even more now as I see this stranger with my face staring back at me on posters and magazines, covering what he doesn't want the world to see." He bit his lip slightly and squared his shoulders. "But I am not going to achieve anything by moping and feeling sorry for myself and I beat that murdering bastard by making something of my life and not letting him kill me." He looked over at me and I saw the fog clear from his eyes as he shook his head, almost as if he were shaking the dour mood off. "And the thing I am achieving is making music and I love doing it Izzy. That's what's important!" I nodded encouragingly, running my hand up and down his arm, just glad to have him back, to be near him.

"He didn't kill you alongside your mother and he hasn't been able to kill you with the memories Ric, you've won. Like you said, you are making something of your life."

"Yeah," he smiled suddenly and I basked in the warm glow. "I told the boys I would go over and have a jam with them this evening; we haven't played together in nearly three weeks. Are you going to come?"

I glanced up at him, the waves of tiredness and depression that had weighed me down the past few weeks evaporating away. "Of course."

They stored their equipment on the ground floor of an old warehouse, with high glass windows blocking out any real view of the outside or allowing anyone to peek in. Efforts had been made to clean it up slightly and it had heating and a scuffed wooden floor, a small kitchen area installed at one end, but it still held an industrial feel. Cluinn could no longer practise in community centres or halls as they used to, for if the fans had found out they would have been inundated. Renting the warehouse in a secure compound had seemed like a good idea for both added safety and the fact that it was out of the way, no one would consider a band practiced in such an unglamorous location.

Two beat up leather sofas had been dragged in, place at an angle with a faded old carpet in between, facing the plethora of speakers, guitars, keyboard and Sandy's second drum kit, the first apparently held in storage only coming out at concerts. The drummer and bass guitarist greeted Ric warmly, manly hugs and back slapping aplenty as I curled up on one of the sofas watching them with amusement. Jim slid in a few moments later, his eyes narrowed and pupils dilated slightly, but otherwise walking and talking straight."Hey wanker," he pointed his finger like a shotgun at Ric, who turned at his entrance, the frown on his face breaking into a smile.

"Alright Jimbo," he replied his gaze raking his friend up and down. "You wasted already? It's only seven."

"Laney away," he slurred slightly, collapsing onto the sofa next to me and putting a heavy hand on my lap. "Hello Izzy my darling."

"Hi Jim," I replied with a slight laugh, amused by his laconic attitude. He didn't smell of alcohol, but the sweet scented smoke of hash clung to his clothes. "Nice to see you again."

"Mmm, you two sweets - missed you. You know Ric, your gorgeous girl here was so lonely whilst you were away that she actually had to come and see us – how desperate was that?" Ric turned away from the amp he was adjusting to face me, slipping the strap of his guitar over his shoulder and fixing me with a gaze.

"If I had known you were suffering to such lengths Iz," he replied, "that you had to seek out McCullough's company I would have been back down like a shot!" He passed his hand over the strings, plucking them slightly before tightening and tuning them into pitch; the movements second habit. He broke into a tune, singing along lightly as he plucked the notes.

"_I'm going out for a while,  
So I can get high with my friends,  
I will,  
I'm going out for a while,  
Don't wait up cause I won't be home,  
Today."_

He paused in his singing, noting the curious look I gave him as he played the music. "We call it Jimbo's stoned song," he explained. "Wrote it at uni, ages ago." He walked over to where the lead guitarist was slumped on the couch next to me and flipped his legs up with his foot. "Come on Jim, get up-let's play." He held out a hand and hauled his friend to standing next to him, watching as he swayed slightly before walking over and picking up his guitar slid the strap over his head and joined in jamming with the song Ric had been playing, Sandy adding a drum beat and Angus a bass line. It was all done with such little effort and I realised the talent of this group and how well they all held together.

Two hours later, having watched the boys laugh and joke, playing songs from their current album and the past, discussing new lyrics and the upcoming tour, I was trying very hard not to fall asleep. The floor was littered with half eaten pizza boxes and clothing, Richard and Sandy having a push up competition on the carpet, the muscular and strong drummer seeming to beat Ric with ease.

"And I've been training," Ric gasped, pushing back onto his heels and wiping his face with his arm, the prosthetic he was wearing slipping slightly with the sweat. He fingered the loose edge and glancing around pulled the rubber off, placing it neatly next to me on the arm of the chair before wiping his face fully on the front of his t-shirt, leaving a smear of makeup down the front.

The boys glanced over at him, not showing any signs of amazement at his scarred face; not even acknowledging that he had changed his appearance at all. "You need to up the number of reps you do each day," Sandy agreed, lying on the carpet and reaching for a piece of lukewarm pizza and demolishing it in a few bites. "Give it a go Angus?"

I felt my eyelids flutter closed, the noise fading to a buzz in the background as tiredness grabbed hold of me. It was so hard to stay awake past nine these days. From the background I just about picked up Ric's voice. "Hey guys, I'm gonna' split and take Izzy home okay. See you tomorrow." Warm arms scooped me up and a voice crooned in my ears waking me up, pulling me out the door, telling me he loved me. It was so wonderful to feel so loved.

* * *

I woke up gradually; the sensation of someone touching me, running their hands over my body dragged me to consciousness. My eyelids fluttered open, through sleep laden eyes I saw Richard leaning over me; his hands on my skin, his mouth following. "Good morning," he said huskily as he noticed me opening my eyes.

"Mmm," my response was basic as I felt my body rise under his touch; awaken as his fingers and tongue trailed a pathway over my body and up to my breasts.

"What lovely boobs," he murmured, his lips kissing each nipple before he pushed their weight together with his hands, drawing back and admiring my cleavage through hooded eyes. "I've missed these, forgotten they were so magnificent!" He bent down to lavish attention on them again and I giggled slightly before catching my breath as he moved his hands lower on my body. His touch was a brand, my body highly sensitised to his presence, every nerve ending alive with the craving for his hand to linger there.

"Ah," I let out a gasp, half of pain and the rest pleasure as his hands once again came back to the top half of my body, so sensitive to the way he was playing me as finely as if he were tuning his violin. I didn't know if I wanted him to continue or end it immediately, my body being responsive and angry in turn as he let his calloused fingers trail slowly down from my breasts, across the slight swell of my stomach and lower; his lips; teeth and tongue following suit, before he slowly entered me.

I let out a cry, glad to once again be joined, the sensation overwhelming so that they tears flowed hard and hot out my eyes, my body writhing under his. "Izzy, Izzy," he crooned to me, kissing them away, singing softly under his breath the words to the 'Light of Day' song. "_I wanna bathe you in the light of day, and just watch as the rays tangle around your face and body._" He paused, a smile on his face. "You know I wanted to call that song 'Isabella'?" He mentioned, causing me to lift my head and smile at him through the moisture in my eyes. "It was after watching you lying here in a beam of sunlight one morning. But it was decided it was too personal, so had to change the name."

"Really?" He nodded and bent over kissing me thoroughly, making my body rise up underneath him so that I finally came, silently and forcefully under his skilful touch. "I love you," I breathed and he lifted my hands up, pressing kisses into each palm.

"Good," he replied; slowly climbing off me, his hair swinging across his face, his biceps bulging with the movement. As he slid off the bed and moved to the door; his naked body highlighted in a sunbeam, he paused and looking back at me. "Because I feel the same way!" I sunk back into the pillows, my eyes heavy with exhaustion, glad that for the first time in ages I wasn't feeling sick. It didn't last long. The rolling feeling came back almost immediately and I scrambled out of bed; rushing into the bathroom, pushing Richard aside in my haste to get to the loo where I leaned over it, the contents of my stomach emptying in a couple of heavy heaves.

"Izzy," he was by my side in a flash, pressing a damp flannel against my face, wiping my mouth as I stood up on shaky legs, glad that the morning ritual was finished. "Are you still being sick?" His tone was incredulous and I nodded, unable to find my voice. "That's been what, four weeks since you first said you felt ill? Don't you think you should go to the Doctor's?" I nodded again.

"Yes," it was a small weary voice that finally found its way out. "I tend to feel better halfway through the day and then think it's just me being silly and I will be okay tomorrow. But you're right, I've felt under the weather for ages now – I think I've picked up some low level virus and I really want to get it under wraps before the V festival – won't be much fun camping if I am feeling like this!" I smiled up at Ric and he briefly returned it, although it seemed slightly strained.

I slowly went about my morning routine getting up and dressed, some dry toast – the only thing I could stomach so early and then set out for work again, leaving Ric at home; promising that he would contact me later in the day. My boobs ached with the attention he had paid them that morning and the sharp stabs echoed in my stomach. But I was happy and content in my mind and so unlike other days it did not seem such a burden to bear. I was off colour, but not horrendously sick and I could live with it; especially if I had my boyfriend lavishing attention on me as he had this morning.

"Morning Tat," I cheerfully greeted my colleague with a smile and she looked up, a matching grin spreading across her face.

"Morning Izzy, glad to see you are in a good mood this morning!"

"Well you know..." I shrugged not able to share my reasons because as far as she was concerned Richard didn't exist and therefore neither did my relationship. Instead I had a rock star as a flatmate who seemed to live a glamorous frenetic life. I smiled at the thought of telling Tatty that when I had left for work; her idol was on his hands and knees cleaning out the filter on the washing machine!

Happiness is great inspiration and the hours flew by so that I hardly aware lunch was approaching. But my stomach demanded food and vowing that I would eat healthy (despite the pizza last night) I popped out for a salad. I returned to find Tatty with a misty look in her eyes and a smile on her face.

"You've just missed him," she said slightly breathlessly.

"Who?"

"Phantom! He called, about fifteen minutes ago to talk to you about attending a meeting. You didn't say you had anything scheduled?" Her voice sounded accusatory.

"I didn't," I shook my head feigning confusion. "He's been away, so I guess he just was trying to get me involved on the off chance. Did he leave a message?"

"Um, yeah, said he was going to have a catch-up with Devlin Saunders and was hoping you might be free to attend but as you were not around could you call him on his mobile." I nodded in response, turning around and heading off to an empty meeting room, I did not want Tatiana eavesdropping on my phone call.

"Hey," he picked up the telephone straight away. "I just phoned to see how you were feeling. Have you made an appointment with the Doctor's?"

"Oh, god no." I replied with a sigh. "I forgot, will do it straight away. How's the washing machine?"

"Fixed, there was just loads of crap in the filter – don't think you've cleaned it for ages!" He paused and I giggled slightly.

"He had a law degree, plays the guitar, sings and can also fix washing machines. Is there anything you can't do?" There was a slight pause.

"Draw; iron, cook," he replied succinctly making me laugh again before continuing. "I also wanted to review this autograph signing event tomorrow afternoon with you – you've never mentioned it before?" His voice was slightly puzzled and I frowned.

"Autograph signing event? I haven't organised anything like that – don't think so at least. Is there an event sheet for it?" I produced a weekly schedule of everything I had organised for the band and circulated copies electronically to the label, Devlin and the boys. I hadn't done one for a few weeks as they had officially been on holiday.

"Nope, your colleague, um what's her name with the dark hair told me that there was one at the Park Lane Hotel tomorrow for a couple of hours. Not that I mind, but just surprised that there was no forewarning, especially as I wasn't planning on coming back down for a couple of days."

"Hmm," my tone of voice was suspicious and I realised Tatty was planning things behind my back. Especially as there was obviously a kick back for her brother involved. She had every right to, being the group director and therefore my line manager, but it bothered me that she had done it without my consultation. I needed to speak to her. "Okay, well I will find out some more about it and send you an e-mail with an events sheet. Are you meeting Devlin?"

"Yup, going over tour plans, he sounded really excited about something. Then we were going to head over to the warehouse – why don't you join us there straight from work?"

"Sure," I agreed and with a few more brief words we finished our conversation and I went out to face Tatiana and question her about this new signing.

She looked up as I stood next to her desk, her brief smile fading as she witnessed the frown that sat on mine. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, yes, it is just that Phantom was asking about an autograph signing that is happening tomorrow? Felt like a real fool as I knew nothing about it, haven't put it on their schedule and basically seem like a stammering prat!" I arched my eyebrows and looked at her; she only squirmed a little under my regard.

"Oh, it was an off the cuff thing that I only thought of as I was talking to him, so haven't briefed you or anybody. Something I organised ages ago for 'Pearl Necklace', but if you remember their lead singer got carted off to rehab last week, so it has been hanging loose and I thought if I could fill the slot we might still make some money off it!"

"That's the label's responsibility though isn't it?" She shrugged.

"Grabbing at an opportunity. Cluinn is riding high and they can take advantage of it. All they have to do is sit there, have a lot of people scream at them, sign their names for a few hours, have a cup of tea and go home." Her voice sounded defensive, as if I dare question what she had done, her lips set in a defiant line and her arms crossed as she sat at her desk. "A monkey could organise it, you just have to let everyone know that they are going to be there!"

I raised my eyebrows and sighed slightly – she was right of course and the boys were about to release a new single so a bit of publicity before the next round of festivals wouldn't hurt. I nodded in accordance and sat down at my desk speed dialling the marketing team at EGA to let them know what was happening and get the monster moving once more.

Tatty was right about one thing, I though as I stood out of the way in the corner of the hotel ballroom the next afternoon, arms hugging a clipboard to my chest, trying to be fairly invisible – it was full of screaming people; men and women alike – Cluinn's music seemed to have universal appeal. A few unsubtle hints on the message boards of the website, the odd announcement on the radio and a competition to meet them and win personally signed band apparel had meant that everyone knew what was happening.

The four men sat at a cloth draped table, highly styled and pouting away for all it was worth. Ric was in full Phantom mode, the tight jeans, black brooding mask, jangle of bracelets and painted nails transformed him into the lead singer, whilst Jim sat on his right a more homely smile on his face, then Richard's sneer, but still in a black t-shirt and ripped jeans. Angus and Sandy were not quite the same showmen, but even I knew that the clothes they wore were not from their normal wardrobe, Sandy's tight t-shirt highlighting the rippling muscles in his arms and chest, whilst Angus just looked more pulled together then his usual sloppy outfits.

There was the opportunity to purchase a huge amount of fan material, from signed photographs, deluxe editions of the CD, t-shirts; hats; even fake masks! Any of this could be purchased for a vastly inflated price and the boys were told to willingly sign any and everything that was presented to them. It was a very simple way of promoting the group, but tension still sat on my shoulders as I stood there and watched; out of the way of the band and the commotion.

"Hey," a voice sounded behind and I felt a large warm hand rest on my shoulder. I glanced up briefly.

"Hi Ralph." I had come prepared for this, knowing that I would see him and had given myself a stiff talking to about how I would behave when faced with him. Friendly but professional was the conclusion I had come to. "How's it going?"

"Well," he glanced around at the barely controlled crowds causing pandemonium as the queue snaked around the ballroom. "You've managed to create havoc in the ballroom again!" His voice was warm and lightly teasing and I found myself relaxing slightly – obviously he had come to the same conclusions I had.

"You've got your sister to thank for this one; she suggested it!"

"I was moaning to her about it the other day as the room was sitting empty at short notice. As I can usually book it several times over, so it is very annoying when a deal falls through and the clients were refusing to pay which was making everything very awkward." He sighed. "But it has all worked out happily in the end, although one person has already fainted and required medical attention – glad we got the paramedics in, you forget how worked up people can become!"

"Yeah," I momentarily let my eyes rove over a group of women, clocking them at not much younger then me, shrieking and screaming because Phantom had smiled at one and Sandy winked at another. It struck me as being very strange.

"I mean even though Tatty is fond of this group – plays their CD incessantly," he groaned, "I can't see her ever fainting! She said she would swing by later if everyone is still here." I groaned inwardly for Tatiana had a strange way of turning up whenever I dealt with Cluinn, often using her status and position as an excuse to fulfil her crush. I was very glad she had been unable to get tickets to Glastonbury for it would have been very awkward indeed! I tuned back into what Ralph was saying, noticing that his hand had slipped from my shoulder to my waist, frowning at the way he was running his hand lightly back and forth across the front of my dress.

"Excuse me," I said stepping away from his touch. "I had just better go and check on t-shirt sales." Obviously he hadn't reached the same conclusions as me and I decided retreat was the better part of valour, especially with Richard sitting only yards away, even if all his attention was on the crowd in front of him. Wandering over to the kiosk I checked on stock levels of the merchandise, glad to see that the more expensive t-shirts and hoodies were selling well, someone had even fallen for the branded leather jacket (just like the Phantom wears screamed the sign) and the tills were filling up nicely.

Three hours later and the pandemonium was drawing to a close. Not that the flood of fans were any less, but security had shut the doors in and no one else was permitted to join the queue, so that the line started to dwindle. I could tell by the droop of Ric's shoulders that he was exhausted, his posture similar to when he sat up studying for most of the night. I am sure all of them had aching backs and hands and yet the image was still there, the smiles and suggestive looks that sold them to the people who had queued for hours to get the signature of their idols.

When the last fan had finally been escorted out, the band ushered away (to a private meeting room) and the money counted and banked, we gathered together to have a quick review of the event, all of us sipping drinks and laughing over the intensity of the past few hours. I sat as far away as I could from Richard, not wishing to give him anyway of breaking out of his character, unintentionally or not. I snuck him a glance, smiling up under my eyelashes and flashing a grin his way, which he returned.

Our private group was interrupted by the Cheyne siblings entering the meeting room, Tatiana braying loudly as she had a tendency to do, her voice falling into awed silence as she saw her idols gathered on the sofas, with myself and a couple of the record label marketing lackeys. Her greeting was slightly breathless, eyes full of wide delight and I begrudgingly moved up, making room for her on the sofa so that she could be opposite Angus, squashing myself against the arm. It was made worse when Ralph came and perched himself next to me so that I was sandwiched in between brother and sister. I could only assume my face spoke of my emotions, for the band looked as if they were trying to stifle their collective humour as they looked at me.

The chat was inconsequential, vague talk of the upcoming tour, the fact that most of the student unions and smaller venues they had booked to play in were already sold out and extra gigs at larger locations were being slid in, meaning that the band was playing in a variety of different locations all over Great Britain, their three month tour having sold out for over forty nights. There was even talk of touring the mecca for rock bands in the New Year by attempting to smash America with their sound. It was all very positive and uplifting, the craziness of the afternoon simply being a drop in the ocean that they were starting to swim in.

I nodded and smiled in all the right places; added comments where necessary and sipped lightly at the beer in my hands, not enjoying the taste at all, so trying not to really drink it. My claustrophobic position of being nearly squashed off the sofa was hot and uncomfortable and I kept shifting to try and stay in place. All of a sudden I felt an arm wrap itself around my shoulders, pulling me into place, holding me up. I turned and looked at the hand, the thick heavy fingers and well groomed nails; my gaze trailing up the arm wrapped in a fine wool suit and switching shoulders to see that it belonged to Ralph!

I frowned at him, silently telling him off for his assumption before throwing a mute but wild cry of help over to Ric who sat there, his eyes trained on the arm; his face frozen as he watched the fingers squeeze my shoulders. Obviously there was nothing either of us could do for in our respective roles we were not partners, no more then casual flat sharers if that.

I watched as he excused himself, the set of his eyebrows and flare of his nostrils attesting to his confusion and possibly anger. I knew I needed to find him, explain and possibly make amends. If the situation were to be read on body language alone then there was the opportunity to misunderstand. I rudely pushed Ralph's hand off my shoulder, not caring who saw my unsubtle actions, fed up with the way he was trying to lay claim to me. Standing up, I decided to go in search of Ric and try to explain.

I could not find him. A search of the bar, lobby and front did not reveal any lead singer so I could only assume he was in the loo and to gate crash the gentlemen's guest room of a five star hotel was not a wise decision, so I waited outside. "Izzy," the voice saying my name had me spinning round, only to groan – Ralph had followed me out. "I'm glad to get you on your own, we need to speak."

"Do we?" I kept my tone of voice abrupt and cold, there was no point in being informally polite, for he did not take it on board.

"Yes, after the other weekend. I-"

"Would rather not discuss it," I concluded, not wanting him to say anything, give him an opening at all.

But Izzy, you ended up in my bed..."

"Because you put me there." I hissed back at him trying not to draw attention to myself. "There is nothing going on between us Ralph, nothing at all and if anything happened that night, it was not with my consent!" I saw a flash in his eyes. "Did we do anything?" I demanded in expectation, suddenly wanting to know. He dropped his gaze towards the elaborate marble floor.

"Honestly, I cannot remember Izzy. Tat and I had, well we took some, um, mood enhancers before we went out," he smiled his preppy grin with an embarrassed air. "Makes it easier to deal with the parents. Trouble is I also can't remember much from about nine o'clock onwards. I would like to think that you and I did, but either way I don't recall." His voice was low and hesitant, the tone confidential – this was not information he wanted to get out for it could ruin his career.

"Look, don't worry I won't dump you in it Ralph – just wanted to know if..."I paused, how could I construct a plausible lie from the truths I was allowed to tell?" "Well, there is someone I fancy and...I'm sorry, it's not you – I don't want to lead you on." I swallowed heavily, a nasty metallic taste filling my mouth, accentuated by the few sips of beer I had just drunk. "Please don't take it personally!"

"Hmm, no." He shrugged and for a moment his face looked so sad that I felt sorry for him and rising up on my toes pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thanks Izzy! If there is every anyway I can be of help – or if you change your mind..." I nodded.

"I know where to find you." I smiled at him confidentially. "But don't worry; we still got to share a bed if nothing else..." He gave a weak grin and with a slight shrug of his shoulders turned on his heel and went back to his job. I watched him go, a slight regret tugging at my heart for such a missed opportunity, but glad that I had nipped it in the bud before any damage could really be done.

Ric had still not emerged but unless he had succumbed to another bout of food poisoning (doubtful) I realised my conclusion to his location must have been wrong. Returning to the room I thought it best to break the informal meeting up and head for home, it had been a long day and an exhausting afternoon.

"Isabella!" This time there was no mistaking the Scottish lilt of my boyfriend and as he grabbed my arm, I spun round and gazed up into the Phantom's face. He was angry that much was obvious, angry and confused. "Where have you been? We need to talk!"

* * *

**Uh oh Izzy! **

Quoted lyrics are from:-

High by Feeder from the album Polythene and the album The Singles

Crack the Shutters (which is referred to as Light of Day) from the album A Hundred Million Suns


	34. Chapter 34

**Sorry this is late being posted - I had a marvellous weekend off in London. Was able to go back to loads of old haunts - including Covent Garden, so was glad to see that it was how I remembered it (bit more manic though).****There is a very adult theme to this chapter so consider yourself warned, no room for prudishness, although I have tried not to be too graphic. And pleeeaaase review - it really keeps me writing. **

Chapter 34

I sat on the couch; upright, spine rigid; ankles crossed primly, hands folded in my lap like a picture of ladylike decorum. Inside I was a boiling churning mess, not knowing what I was suppose to be thinking or saying. There was nothing I could do except wait.

The moment Ric had uttered those words to me I felt my eyes fill with tears, my emotions; never far from the surface these days, spilling over and flooding down my cheeks. He just stood there, looking at me with distress in his eyes, but not making any movement, no gesture of comfort or words of cheer, not like the other night. I reached for him with shaking hands, desperately wanting his arms around me at that moment. He stopped me with a small shake of his head, the action reminding me that he was the Phantom and all I could be to him was his PR manager. Instead he placed his hand in the small of my back and turned so that our conversation was hidden by a strategically placed pot plant. "Go home," he said softly, levelly and a touch coldly. "I will see you there later." I needed no further invitation and fled.

Now I was sitting there waiting for the jury to come home and deliver the verdict. What I stood accused of I was unsure. Was it that simple gesture that Ralph had used when he held me in place, or did Ric know more and more of what? At the end of the day my dalliance with the man had been very one sided.

I waited for half an hour, the clock ticking the minutes away whilst I sat and fidgeted, trembled and mentally reviewed my case. Finally the door slammed and he stood there, tall; dark and brooding. The Phantom dominating my living room, his hair flowing around his shoulders, dark half mask on that seemed to highlight the sneer on his face. His tight jeans and heavy black leather boots that buckled up his calves were accompanied by a tight black t-shirt, the muscles rippling in his chest as he pushed back his jacket and placed his hands on his hips. Never had he been more desirable, or more untouchable.

"Izzy," he finally said after a lengthened pause, inhaling deeply through his nostrils. I barely moved from my wax work position on the sofa and I could tell that it threw him. I didn't sit on the sofa; he did or usually lay on it whilst I curled up in the chair. I remained silent as well just staring at him with red rimmed eyes. He sunk into my armchair; his knees placed together hands tucked between his legs, holding me in his gaze.

"Would you take your mask off please," I said finally, tonelessly and watched him flinch at my request. He reached up and very slowly pulled the mask off, gently pushing with his fingers to separate flesh and prosthesis. I didn't realise I was holding my breath until I released it as he placed his mask on the coffee table in between us.

His scared face on view he became a little less of the Phantom and a little bit more Richard, more approachable. This was someone with whom I could connect, had a relationship with. The silence ticked by for a few moments longer, neither of us willing to make the first move for our own reasons.

"What the hell was going on there?" he said finally, his voice gruff.

"Where exactly?" I watched as he swallowed, obviously riled by my reply.

"At the hotel, where else?" he snapped the words out, standing up as he did. Without another word he strode into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water, gulping it down. I watched his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, detached from the surroundings, not sure what was going to happen next, could almost see myself sitting on the sofa in my crushed dress, face pale and expressionless. It was almost like having an out of body experience. My moment was interrupted as he put the glass down on the table with a bang. "Izzy!" I looked up at him as he snapped the word out, still remaining mute. "What is going on between you and Ralph Cheyne?"

I held his gaze in silence for a second and then two more. "Nothing," I answered finally.

"He didn't seem to think so."

"He isn't very good at taking 'no' for an answer." I stood up, still keeping myself detached, fearing that if I let go, if I showed even the slightest modicum of emotion then I would collapse, weeping and wailing, pleading forgiveness for even considering that I found the man attractive. It wouldn't do and so I therefore had to be hard and have a backbone of steel. In truth I was exhausted and all I wanted to do was go to bed and pull the covers over my head. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

I didn't wait for his nod, but stood and went into the kitchen, watched the kettle boil and made two cups, desultorily stirring the teabag around in the mugs, so that I didn't have to turn around and look at Richard slumped in the chair; his head propped on his hand. Something wasn't right; he didn't seem to be happy with my answer.

I gave a slight gasp as I turned to get the milk out of the fridge and saw that he was now standing directly behind me, his face set, lips in a thin line, the anger still in his eyes. He hadn't accepted my excuse. "Define nothing for me," his voice was low and deep, restrained anger barely held in check. "I don't think we agree on the same meaning." I backed against the counter, alarmed by the look in his eyes.

"Okay, he's been chasing me and yes, he kissed me – twice. Is that enough of an answer for you, or would you like exact dates, times and locations?" My sarcasm rallied in a brave attempt, not willing to back down to the domineering side of Ric, one that had played less of a role in our relationship recently. It had retreated, but not died and was now back in full swing.

"And what about you sleeping with him, or doesn't that even count as 'nothing' – too insignificant to even register maybe?" The words were delivered with biting sarcasm and I blanched slightly, mainly at the fact that he knew but also at the tone he used.

"H-How do you know about that?" I stammered; my brain dizzy with the rush of adrenalin that had been released as he spoke.

"Your delightful colleague told me when I came looking for you. She said that you and the blonde buffoon had gone off – that you probably wanted to have some private time together as you were, _'nudge, nudge, wink wink' _were her exact words."

"I had gone to look for you; I hadn't gone off with Ralph!" My voice was tight and I realised I was on the rollercoaster now, climbing to the top and waiting for the freefall. "He followed me! Where did you disappear to and why were you with Tatiana?"

"You look distressed and uncomfortable and I had this bizarre idea that you were unhappy and was going to phone you to call you over, except before I had a chance that girl came over and started blabbing away. When I said I needed to speak with you she told me that you had gone off with Ralph!"

"Well, that's not true! I just told you what happened; now stop being judge and jury in one and basing your verdict on such scanty evidence. You of all people should know how to construct a case!" I sneered back, riled by his assuming behaviour.

"And then she went on," he shot back, ignoring what I had said "to say that you were recently an item, got together at her birthday party! When was this Isabella?"

"It wasn't like that!"

"Oh, so something did happen rather then 'nothing'?" I swallowed hard, realising that he had flushed the truth out of me. I forgot how cleverly he could construct and weave scanty facts into a confession. "Excuse me for pointing out the inconvenient truth, but I believed that we were a couple and I don't know about you, but I believe in monogamy in relationships." He leant down, his blue eyes boring into me, smelling tantalising of sweat and aftershave, he put one hand on my shoulder and another wrapped around my waist. His face inches from mine and I involuntarily raised my head wanting a kiss. "Tell me what happened?" His breath intermingled with mine and suddenly I was claustrophobic, couldn't breathe.

"Get off me," I pushed him back, needing air, hoping for some space. "I told you nothing happened. I went to his house after a party and fell asleep on the sofa – that's it." I could feel my anger and tiredness rising with every second, not having the energy to fight his bad mood or Tatiana's half truths.

He took a step backward but didn't leave the kitchen which made it crowded with two of us in the small space. "And what about the other times?"

"There weren't any Ric!" I shouted. "Nothing happened! Can you not get that through your thick skull! Tatiana doesn't know that you and I are a couple and her 'evidence' is based on semi-truths and hope. She wants me hooked up with her brother and would rather like to be going out with Phantom in the process. She probably thought we were looking too chummy and set out to spin some tales in order to divert your attention. Now stop acting like such an over domineering, possessive twat!" My small speech was enough to get the tears running again and I furiously flooded the counter with milk as I filled the cups up, stirring furiously.

"How do I know you are telling the truth?" he persisted intensely after a short pause.

"You just have to trust me!" I let out a yell. "Don't you trust me?" He stared me down before he uttered one word.

"No." In total frustration and without a second thought for my actions I picked up the cup of tea I had made him and hurled it at his head. He shifted out of the way with quick reflexes and the cup crashed into the doorframe, scattering shards of china over the floor and worksurface, trails of tea running down the walls and cupboard doors. It was a total mess and my shocked gaze shifted from the dent in the wooden frame to his face which held an equally horrified expression.

Time stood still for a few minutes before he turned and stepped out the kitchen, his heavy boots crunching on the remains of the cup. He picked up his mask and pressed it back on to his face. "I am going to the warehouse, you can speak to me there when you've calmed down!" The words came out with a scornful manner and he left the house, shutting the door with a bang behind him.

It took me several long minutes to calm down I was shaking so hard, tears again flooding down my face – at this rate I would cure any water shortages for the foreseeable future. Finally I bent down and cleaned up the horrific sticky mess I made, having achieved nothing in my actions except breaking a spare mug.

It was all I could do to practically crawl to my bedroom, strip off my clothes into a heap and crawl under the covers, my eyes closing with sleep the moment my head touched the pillow – emotionally and physically exhausted with everything that had gone on. Tomorrow I would think about the consequences, I didn't have any spare energy left that night.

* * *

Morning came and with it no relief from my aching head, sore body and tired mind. It hadn't helped that despite my exhaustion I still woke twice in the night, desperate for the loo and then it seemed to take forever to get back to sleep, our discussion weighing heavily on my mind. I was so battered and bruised mentally that I phoned in sick and went straight back to bed. It was only as I was climbing in under the cool covers that my mobile rang and I lifted it heavily to my ear. "'lo?"

"Izzy?" It was not the soft Scottish burr of my boyfriend, but the richer Glaswegian tones of Angus that came over the line. I looked at the number and frowned because the call was coming from Richard's phone. I had left several message last night, from stilted apologies to tearful ramblings, asking that he come home. He had not replied to any of them.

"Yeah. Hey Angus, where's Ric?" There was an awkward pause and a shuffling around, whispered voices before he answered again.

"Um, he's here, at the warehouse," another pause. "Passed out on the sofa!" He let me digest this information for a beat before continuing, "It looks as if he's drunk a whole bottle of Jim's whisky – J's really pissed off with him. Trouble is Izzy, we can't rouse him!" I groaned – why when there was a crisis did they call me? I wasn't a nurse.

"Have you tried sticking a bucket of water over his head?" I suggested sarcastically. "Angus I'm not a doctor or a nurse, I have no idea. If you are worried call his Grandmother or NHS Direct, they might have some suggestions!" My words came out clipped and unsympathetic. "Give him a kick from me whilst you are about it as well!" There was silence on the line again, longer this time and I considered hanging up.

"You two argued then?" His voice sounded weary and I smiled slightly when I heard Jim in the background demanding that Sandy owe him a fiver for wining the bet. It was such atypical behaviour, except by my boyfriend.

"Something like that." I sighed, the noise no doubt carrying down the line. "Listen Angus, I feel like shit and I am not really in the mood to come over and try to wake him. I am staying out the way, unless he feels like coming and apologising and you can tell him that from me when he gets up!"

"If he wakes up," Angus added gloomily. "So you aren't coming to V then? There's a spare berth on the bus, we are leaving Friday night and performing Saturday afternoon at Weston and Sunday at Chelmsford."

"I'll see," I replied noncommittally. "But I mean it Angus, keep him out of my way unless he feels like apologising, 'cause I don't want to see him!" I heard him mutter words like 'stubborn girl' under his breath, but stood firm. I was fed up of being the victim to Richard's insecure bullying – if he couldn't accept me at face value then it wasn't worth it. I ended the conversation there, flinging my phone down on the bedcover and rolling around in the bed, twisting the duvet around my body. Finally I once again drifted off to sleep, tired and fed up.

Silence was maintained for the rest of the day; no doubt Richard had one hell of a hangover. A whole bottle of whisky was probably more then he drunk in six months – I rarely saw him select it as the alcohol of choice; despite his Scottish heritage. Maybe guilt had caused him to drown his sorrows and if so he deserved the penance of a splitting head and nausea to boot. Although deep inside, despite my fighting words I was worried and upset and want to simply speak to him.

It was another twenty-four hours before the call finally came. "Izzy," his voice was rough and strained; still recovering from what was no doubt an awful twenty-four hours.

"Yes." It wasn't the best place to be talking, I was currently marching towards the doctor's, running late for my valued appointment and it was hard to speak properly as I marched along the pavement, ploughing pedestrians and buggies out of the way in my haste.

"Where are you?" His voice was quite and patchy, the phone signal not at its best.

"On the way to the doctor's, I can't really talk." My words came out sharp, more due to breathlessness and speed then any anger, that was all spent.

"Good, glad you are finally going. Listen, are you coming up to V tonight? I, we need to talk and..."

"Not tonight," I said abruptly, not wanting our apologies to have to be in the goldfish bowl of the coach, an audience of men watching our reunion as if it were a soap opera on television. "No, I think I will travel up on Sunday and meet you at Chelmsford, it's not as far as Weston Park, makes more sense and then I will get a lift back with you then. That's a better idea!" I did not want to be trapped in the intense atmosphere that would no doubt reign between concerts, the band having only a few hours to pack up, get back on the road and drive the five hours from outside Birmingham down to Chelmsford to perform again the next day.

"Okay, yeah, you're right that makes sense. Listen Izzy, there are things to be said and well please just remember something."

"What?" I stopped and turned my back to the road, jamming my finger in my ear to try and block out the ambient noise of the flow of traffic and building works.

"Love you," I could just make out, before the line went dead in my hand, the patchy signal disappearing as was so common in the street. I stood there and tried to redial, a pointless task given the zero bars of signal my phone was currently displaying. There would be time enough to speak to each other and right now I was late for my doctor's appointment.

I had waited for nearly a week to see my doctor, choosing her kind and caring manner over some of the other GPs in the practice. She had seen me through the horrific years after my Father's suicide and subsequent problems and I was comforted by the rapport we had. She welcomed me into her surgery with a smile and listened sympathetically to my problems. Her smile widened slightly as I told her about the nausea, stomach cramps, exhaustion and sore breasts, the horrid metallic taste that seemed to be permanently in my mouth and the over riding need to go to the loo, almost constantly. At the end of my monologue she looked at me with a glow in her eyes. "Isabella, have you done a pregnancy test?"

"Pregnancy? No, there's no need I'm on the pill, have been for ages!"

"But you have been having sexual relations?" I nodded sheepishly, embarrassed that I had never even considered this as an option. "And have you skipped any of your pills?" I thought back to the weekend of Glastonbury and the hectic hours of nursing my boyfriend that my usual evening routine had been broken. I had forgotten one the Friday night as my bag had been left behind, but returning on the Saturday I had been so involved with Ric, getting up and down several times in the night to him that the bag had remained unpacked until the Monday when I had finished work, but only after falling into Ric's arms and into bed, glad that he was better. I recounted so much to the Doctor and she smiled. "And have you had a period since then?"

"Well, a few days after that I had a very light period, only lasted a day, but I figured that was it.

"Mmm," she agreed. "Did you bring a sample with you?" I passed over the jar as had been requested and watched in silence as she carried it over to the sink, doing the test and coming back to the desk, sitting down with a smile and a nod. "Yes, you are pregnant Isabella, given the dates you told me about, I would say around six weeks." She caught sight of my face and continued. "If this is something you need to think about, I can give you the name of some groups so you can talk about your options."

"Options?" My voice was sharp and I looked at her with a frown; knowing what she was insinuating. The thought made me feel even sicker.

"No one is asking you to make a decision at the moment," she said gently. "But given what you have said if you decide on that route, the sooner you come to a decision, the better." I nodded dumbly, shocked and stunned by the news. In hindsight it was blindly obvious that my illness had not been viral as I had blamed, but then I had no close female confident to talk to, no mother and even Mags and I had drifted apart, so there was no one I could share my problems with in a gossipy confidential female way. I left the surgery a few minutes later; promises to my doctor to speak to either her or one of the many people on the leaflets she had pressed into my hands. I immediately called work and excused myself again, heading for a bookshop to buy the relevant reading material and find out what was happening to my body.

I lay on my bed that evening, rubbing my stomach with my hands, no longer worried about the extra pounds I was carrying, dreaming about when my flat belly would start to swell and bulge with child. On the covers around me were littered pamphlets from the surgery and a couple of books that I had bought, all telling me about exactly what stage I was at. Reading them had cemented one thing in my mind – this was a child I was carrying, mine and Richard's and I was going to love and cherish it for the rest of its life – no one could persuade me otherwise. I wore acupressure bands on my wrists at the suggestion of my doctor to ease the nausea and a large bottle of folic acid tablets sat in the bathroom cupboard, replacing the now useless pill packet that had resided there.

There was unfortunately one glaring problem with this whole set-up and not one I really wanted to dwell on. Despite suddenly realising with a great deal of joy that I was about to be a mother, the father was currently heading up a rock band, a rock band that was on a trajectory to stardom, as long as they were willing to put the leg work in. The trouble is this meant a lot of concerts, a lot of touring and anything but the hygienic stable routine that the books hinted was suitable for raising a child in.

I was not sure how I would break the news to Richard, even more so in the wake of his accusations the other day. Judging by our brief conversation that morning he had come to his own conclusions and as he had rightly said we needed to talk, but there was the danger that he could throw this pregnancy back in my face. I decided then and there that I would have to find a quiet time after their show and try to discuss it with him in a calm and rational manner. Despite saying that I would only go and see him on the Sunday, a four hour car trip between venues might be the perfect time to talk to him. I would surprise him on the Saturday, go and watch the show from the wings, grab him as he came off stage and then we could talk and I could tell all!

* * *

I purposefully set off slightly late the next day, knowing that the train I was catching would get me to the station with only ten minutes before they were due to go one, not wanting to have time before when awkward conversation would have to be made and there would be a chance I could blurt out my secret. A taxi ride to the site would delay me, so I would probably miss the first couple of tunes. However I would be there, cheering the band on at the end, enjoying watching them without the strain of knowing I had to perform. The simple advice my doctor had given me had helped keep my nausea under control so that I didn't have the same rolling waves of sickness pass through me, no doubt helped by the comfier maternity trousers I had treated myself to yesterday, rather then trying to garrotte myself with my slim cut denims.

Yet luck had decided to desert me and the joy of engineering works on the tube meant that my train ground to a halt in the tunnel, leaving me enclosed in a hot and sweaty carriage starring at the blackened walls and wiring through the window, trying not to clock watch and panic that I would miss my train. It was a mad dash up the escalators and stairs and on to the station concourse, where I continued on my run of bad fortune, watching my train pull away from the platform. There was a whole hour's wait for the next one! It took nearly two hours to get to Weston Park, the train journey long and the traffic from the station backed up as people flooded to the campsite for two days of festival. "This is as near as I can get love," the taxi driver said in exasperation, after we had sat in a queue for nearly half an hour. The signs that the official drop off point was only a hundred metres ahead loomed by our window and on his advice I paid him the fare and got out of the car, hurrying to the gate.

I was too late for the gig, it had finished over twenty minutes ago, the delays of tube, train and car making me arrive nearly two hours later then I had planned. I just hoped that the coach had not already left, but then I also knew that it took at least an hour to pack up all the equipment after the concert and the boys refused to leave until they knew it was safely away.

It took some persuading at the gate for them to accept that my wrist band and pass was entirely kosher and that I was indeed connected to one of the bands. I suppose my sweaty face and small backpack did not make me look like one of the louche beings who hung around with the bands, more an overgrown girl scout – all I needed was my hair in pigtails! The campsite was already a stinky mess, only halfway through the weekend, the smell of tepid beer; warm grass and thousands of people all combining in a belly heaving smell that made me cover my nose. I was so sensitive to aromas at the moment and 'eau de campsite' was guaranteed to get my stomach rolling.

As always the atmosphere was like a large party amid the chaos of getting the stage set up. Band members, girlfriends and anyone vaguely categorised as a celebrity wandered around, determined to soak up the atmosphere. I veered away from the huge party and picnic; despite seeing Sandy in the middle of the fray, helping mix cocktails. I knew that Ric would not be there, at least unlikely having just come off stage - his habit was a bit of privacy and a chance to regain his composure; as well as changing before he joined in with the entertainment. Therefore I knew he would either be on the coach, or in the portacabin that was the excuse of a changing room.

I circled around the party, heading towards the backstage camping to locate the coach, hoping that Ric might be alone so that we could have the opportunity to have a private word – there was so much that needed to be said. I could tell that someone was aboard the bus as I approached, music was blaring out through the windows, and the door was shut, but not locked. I saw this as my opportunity.

I climbed into the coach, not hearing anything above the music which pumped through the interior. In contrast to the accomodation at Glastonbury this was a luxurious double decker affair, no wonder there was room for me on board for it had almost double the number of berths and a whole kitchenette and downstairs living room. Despite the noise there was no one in evidence downstairs and so I mounted the steep narrow staircase to the sleeping area.

Pushing aside the curtain that separated the front seats from the bunks I stopped in wide eyed surprise, shock and horror stretching my mouth into an O, my jaw dropping in astonishment and disgust. I was starring straight into the eyes of my boyfriend, or I would have been if they hadn't been tightly closed, invisible in the holes of the black domino mask he wore. His arms were spread-eagled across the narrow gangway, holding onto the edges of the bunks on either side. He was shirtless and his muscles bulged as his arms flexed with effort. But it was not his topless torso that made me gasp with shock, causing his eyes to spring open and a cry to be torn from his mouth.

Kneeling in front of Richard was a girl, her long backcombed, white blonde hair spilling down her back; whilst large breasts swung out the front of her t-shirt. From my viewpoint all I could see was her bottom, revealed in all its glory by a tiny scrap of a black g-string, her cheeks swaying in rhythm with her mouth which was currently closed around Richard's...I thankfully couldn't see past her head, although it was obvious that she was pleasuring him. She stopped her movements at my involuntary sound, looking over her shoulder with curiosity and I noticed the lipstick around her mouth was smudged. Richard let out a long articulate litany of swear words, trying to move forward, the muscles in his arms rippling with the effort. Entering a strange case of detachment, I realised that they were lashed to the metal posts that held the bunks up and he was stuck in his current position.

"Get the fuck out of here," he was shouting. "Fuck off you stupid bitch, just get the hell out of here – NOW," he roared the last word and the girl's face fell into a panic. She grabbed her miniature denim skirt from where it was balled up on the floor and pushing past me fled down the stairs; not bothering to pause and get dressed. I followed her with my eyes, unable to look at Richard.

"Izzy," I finally raised my gaze to his, my mouth trembling, tears involuntarily flooding my vision. With his hands restrained he was unable to move and cover himself and so he stood arms outstretched between the bunks, his penis half hanging out from his open ripped jeans, his erection rapidly retreating. "Izzy, please," he begged, attempting to lunge forward from his position, unable to move. It was a pathetic degrading sight.

I silently approached and tucked him back into his jeans, realising that it was an old blue pair that he often wore, battered and ripped – that I had lovingly washed and ironed for him a hundred times, like the obedient little girlfriend I was; chasing around after him, offering him a room in my house, a place in my bed and the use of my knowledge to promote his band. I was pathetic, totally pathetic – falling to pieces when he accused me of unfaithfulness, whilst all the while he had been the guilty party. "Thank you," he whispered in my ear as I yanked the zip up on his trousers. "Now please would you untie me? There is a penknife on that bunk over there," he nodded in the direction of the bed nearest me and I looked over, grabbing the chunky red metal, pulling the blade out before I hesitated and looked him up and down.

He obviously trusted me, despite what he had said the other day. I stood there, knife in hand, my eyes travelling over his body, noting the fine scar and puckered skin where he had been stabbed as a teenager. Part of me was very tempted to do the same. "Why should I you bastard?" I whispered back to him. "Tell me why I should ever bloody well trust you again?"

"Izzy, it's not what it looked like..."

"Oh it bloody well was," I shouted, inches from his face. "I am a woman and I know exactly what she was doing! I've done exactly the same thing to you, so don't be so stupid as to say it wasn't. I am not a child, despite the fact that you always try and degrade me by treating me as if I am!" I pushed the knife into his hand, not trusting myself to cut through the bonds that held him before slapping my hand through his face.

Burning spread through my hand and up my arm, I didn't realise that hitting someone could hurt so much and I looked down in amazement at my bright red palm, the matching imprint of my hand starting to spread across the lower half of his face where I had caught him, his lip bleeding slightly where the edge of a ring I wore had snagged against it. As the pain spread so my fighting spirit left and despair welled up black and suffocating, the tears coming out as hysterical sobs from my mouth. I turned and grabbing my backpack half fell down the stairs, trying to ignore Richard shouting my name as I ran out the bus and away from the whole sordid event.

"Izzy," I heard the voice shout as I ran away from the coach. "Isabella," another shout echoed in my ears. "Izzy." This time the voice was closer and a firm hand closed around my arm. For a brief second I panicked, and tried to free myself from the grasp, before realising it was Angus with his hand closed around my wrist and not Richard. "Izzy?" His voice was curious, worried and comforting, not angry and I stopped tugging, burying my face in his t-shirt instead and sobbing. "Hey, I didn't even know you were here, Ric didn't think you were coming up."

At the innocent comment, my anger came and made a pair with my despair, morphing instead into rage. "I could bloody tell that he didn't," I spat, my face bright red and hot with embarrassment and emotion.

"Oh," Angus' quiet response made me lift my head and look at him, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"You knew that was what he was doing? You knew he was in the coach with some tart who was giving him..." I trailed off; I couldn't put words to the actions I had witnessed. It was too squalid.

"No, but I can guess." He heaved a sigh and placed a gentle hand in my back, pushing me away from the main thoroughfare that we stood in and towards the edge of the campsite and the cover of some trees. "Izzy, this isn't real life you know, normal rules are suspended."

"What like loyalty and commitment and honesty?" My voice was hoarse and ragged; the words came out as an indignant squeak.

"No, I don't mean that and I am not trying to defend Ric's actions. But you have to understand that there are people out there; girls in particular who will do anything and I mean absolutely anything to be with their fans; their idols. It's like the whores that use to follow the army around – sooner or later someone will crack and they will be there offering to do pretty much whatever you want if they can share in what they perceive to be the associated glory for even a few minutes. "

"It sounds disgusting!" I snapped, horrified by what I heard, although knowing deep down that it was true.

"There are crew members that share them as if they were favours, seeing exactly to what level they will degrade themselves – years on the road can apparently harden you that much." He hefted a sigh. "Look, please don't think that Ric is some sort of sexual machine – I promise you he's not. But we all fall off our pedestals sometimes, Sandy a lot of the time, even Jim with saint Alanya by his side. You were just unlucky enough to find out." He trailed off embarrassed now, his cheeks red with a blush as he kicked the root of the tree we stood under and I had a sudden flash of clarity.

"This has been going on a while hasn't it Angus?" I said coolly, fed up with the whole nature of the world of rock music.

"All of us, yeah, but Ric no he hasn't participated. He has been so wound up in his study and you and writing more songs. I'm not his keeper, but as far as I know he succumbed at T for the first time and..."

"Succumbed?" My voice was sarcastic. "Hypnotised into bed as an unwilling sex slave."

"Oh no, he wouldn't sleep with her, just made her su..." he caught sight of my face and stopped. "It was against the drum riser, that's how he got the cut on his shoulder; he caught it on the edge. Izzy, look I shouldn't be telling you this but you are such a great girl and you and Ric are the best together. He can be such a stuck up fucker sometimes, but since he's met you he has changed so much!" He wiped his mouth and sighed passing me over with an assessing glance. "I can't convince you can I?"

I shook my head. "No, sorry Angus, thanks for trying." I could feel the tears prick in my eyes again. "I can't be part of this life, his life anymore if it means having to turn a blind eye towards these sorts of shenanigans. I am going to carry the image of him on the bus in my mind forever more as it is – I don't want to be left at home, waiting for him, knowing that is probably what he is doing." I shook my head firmly and made to leave the privacy of the branches. Angus grasped my hand once again and pulled me back.

"Tell me something else then Izzy," he said firmly. "And please be honest. Are you pregnant?"

"What?" I opened my mouth like a goldfish gasping for air, sucking it in as huge lungfuls. "What? How did you...?" He nodded towards my wrists and the acupressure bands on them.

"I have two sisters, have three nieces and nephews between them so I have seen them both pregnant and know that wearing those bands helps morning sickness and you also have that glowy plumped up look about you. You are aren't you?"

"Does Ric know?"

"You haven't told him?" His voice was incredulous and I felt a tear work its way out of my eye and run down my cheek.

"That's why I'm here – except," I shrugged, not wanting to voice it again. "Does he know Angus? Has he said anything?" The bass guitarist mutely shook his head.

"No, I don't think so. He hasn't been around pregnant women, probably can't tell – you aren't that far gone are you?"

"Six weeks or so, probably from around Glastonbury." He gave a short bark of mirthless laughter and didn't reply for a minute.

"Do you want a lift back to London?" The voice came out as a sigh and he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck as if he could feel that weight of aiding the enemy sitting on him. I nodded my mouth a thin trembling line.

"Come on then, someone will be driving back tonight, let's find you a lift." He paused and looked down at me. "And no, I won't tell Richard, that's for you to do. Just promise me that you will give him the opportunity to speak to you and that you won't keep it from him." I nodded again, not wanting to tell Angus that after his admission I would determinedly break that promise time and time again. I no longer wanted him in my or my baby's life.


	35. Chapter 35

**I couldn't leave you with such a horrible ending as the last chapter. Here is a another offering very quickly. Please read and enjoy and review! Pips**

Chapter Thirty-Five

How I managed to get into work, I wasn't sure. I spent the whole of Sunday curled up in a womb like position; buried underneath my duvet alternately crying, fuming and sleeping, getting up only to attend to the most basic of my needs. But the overwhelming implantation of routine had me waking on the Monday morning and heading into work, aware that I had been absent for too long and would need a doctor's certificate to stay off any further days. Somehow I didn't think they wrote them for broken hearts.

The headache that had dogged me rapidly turned into a pounding migraine so that by the time I sat at my desk I was almost cross eyed with trying to concentrate. Tatty looked up at my arrival and grinned mouthing something over the phone call she was on. I returned it with the barest excuse for a smile before sitting down and firing up my computer. "You are going to have your work cut out this morning," she said as she finished the call.

"Why?"

"Didn't you hear about Cluinn at the V festival? In fact weren't you there?"

"No." My tone was dead, discouraging.

"I can't believe that you get back stage laminates to everything and don't use them. First T in the Park, now V. If you don't want them, please would you pass them on to me, you know I would give my eye teeth!"

"Tat, what happened that needs my urgent attention?" My voice was weary, I was already tired and it was only nine thirty in the morning.

"Oh God, what rock have you been hiding under? There was a big fight before they went onstage on Sunday, apparently um Jim McCullough and Phantom were like literally taking blows at each other, people were betting on the result and then they went on stage and performed this totally fantastic energised set, although they barely looked at each other throughout. Think you need to wield the PR stick of love and peace over them." I simply sighed and briefly closed my eyes. It wasn't surprising, Jim no doubt made some arsy comment and Richard would have hit back – totally typical, although less so that they did it in front of an audience.

I sat down and wrote a couple of releases, emphasising the long running friendship of the band, light heartedly comparing it to the stresses of the boxing ring and sent them to several magazines and the label. I then stopped and looked at my watch, aware that my stomach was growling and I was close to tears. It was hard thinking about the band, bringing them into my consciousness for it made me face up to the truth that I had discovered. "I'm just going to pop out for some food Tatty," I said in the same low toneless voice.

"Okay," she looked up and concern filled her eyes. "Izzy, are you sure you should be back at work, you really don't look good? Is everything all right?" At her gentle probing I felt the tears well up in my eyes, but turned away before she could see them, nodding as I didn't trust myself to speak, practically running out of the office so that she could not ask anymore questions.

I meandered around the shops for a few minute, hoping to regain my equilibrium, buying a sandwich and treating myself to a chocolate bar. The joys of the chemist yielded a new lipstick and some concealer to try and hide the bags under my eyes, although I kept washing it off with my tears. I joined the queue that snaked around the small shop, gazing with disinterest at the shelves to keep my mind from wandering. It was then that my eyes landed on the pregnancy kit. There was no point in buying one, my doctor had confirmed my state, but somehow I wanted to see for myself, see the blue line as confirmation because maybe, just maybe she had got it wrong. "Pigs might fly," I muttered to myself, pulling the narrow box off the shelf and adding it to my purchases, trying to keep up a nonchalant air as if the results would not bother me.

I managed to get out of the shop and nearly back to the office before I started crying again – unable to control the emotions that would not lie down, desperately unhappy and scared. Richard's infidelity had not only destroyed my hopes of a relationship, it had in a single action denied me a loving father for my child. I was to be a single parent and that was the most frightening thought of all.

"Izzy!" Tatiana's voice held genuine worry as I rushed back into the office, dumping my sandwich, before running off to the toilets. In the cubicle I forced myself to open the box and sat on the bowl with shaking hands, trying to make sense of the instructions. The actions done, I then put the cap on and waited for the results, tears streaming down my face. It was the longest two minutes of my life. "Izzy?" I heard my colleague's voice echo in the tiled room but didn't reply, unable to stop myself from crying as the clear white changed to a firm blue cross – pregnant without a doubt.

"Oh my god!" I heard the voice coming from higher up and looked up in shock, gasping as I saw Tatiana's face peering over the top of the cubicle next door. Like a schoolgirl she must have been standing on next door loo's seat. I didn't know if I found her concern touching or not. "Izzy!" I waited for the thud as she jumped down, and stood up, opening the door to the cubicle and exiting, wiping the tears away. She was by my side instantly, a comforting arm around my shoulders and I rested my head against hers glad for comfort from whoever offered it.

"I thought you had been off colour for the past few weeks – guess this is why! Do you know how far gone you are?" I shrugged, trying to find my voice.

"About a month or so," I couldn't be bothered with accuracy, talk of morning sickness or trimesters.

"Do you know who the Father is?" I nodded my head, staring at the test in my hand, the blue lines mocking me. "Have you told him?"

"No, haven't found the chance," I tried to say, but started to cry again after the first word.

"Hey," she said stroking my hair softly as I wetted her shoulder with my tears. "I am sure he won't mind, but you should tell him." She paused and then added in a different tone of voice. "Isabella, it isn't my brother's is it?" I looked up sharply at her, narrowing my eyes, wondering how she jumped to that conclusion, before remembering that she played our tentative relationship up in her mind, which was what had started all the trouble between Richard and me. She caught my look, the shock in my eyes. "I've guessed right haven't I?" Her voice held a grim note, although there was a certain look in her eyes that I could not read.

In a flash of clarity I realised that I could potentially lie my way of the situation I had sunk into. There were a few concrete facts, namely that I was not getting rid of this child come hell or high water, that Richard had given up his right to any parental responsibility by his actions and that I was in serious danger of becoming a single mother living on benefits if I wasn't careful. Tatiana had just offered me an escape route and I suddenly felt like Scarlett O'Hara. Yes, I would lie, cheat and steal to defend this child growing inside me.

With guilt weighing down on me I nodded my head. Let the lying begin, anything for my baby!

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me Izzy?" Ralph shifted uncomfortably on his chair opposite his hand clenched around a cooling cup of coffee, a tic appearing in his pale cheek. All the blood had washed from his face when I told him the inconvenient truth, or the version I was now sticking to. I was at an advantage as he could not remember the night we had spent together, it would mean he was unable to know that I was lying, at least until the child was born.

"I only, well, I only really just had it confirmed," I whispered, which was the truth. "Ralph, you are the only one I have been with recently." I shook my head, tears rolling down my face again at the lies I was forcing myself to spout. He took one look at them and offered me his handkerchief. "I kept telling myself I had a virus or something."

"And the doctor said you were about four weeks?" I nodded and rapidly did some calculations in my head. We had spent a night together four weeks and three days ago, the figures could add up and I doubted he understood the ins and outs of conception.

"The thing is Ralph, well the reason I asked to speak to you is that I have realised after doing some serious thinking that, well, I cannot get rid of this um child." More tears. "My parents would not, I was bought up not to...I'm sorry," I disintegrated into crying again, the thought of being forced into an abortion more then I could handle.

"Izzy, no – I agree, please don't think I would ever ask that of you!" His voice sounded shocked and I was grateful for his moral standing. "But would you consider putting it up for adoption maybe – do you actually want to bring a child up?"

I nodded. "This is the only family I have Ralph, how could I give it away." I stroked my flat stomach possessively. "How could I?" I reiterated before pausing and looking up at him through tears soaked spiky lashes – it was time to reel in the bait and see if he would bite. I felt like a cold hearted bitch as I spoke the words. "But at the same time I don't know I can manage? I earn a decent salary, but it is just me with no support, no help. I don't see how I could work and bring up a child." I gave a sigh my mouth trembling as I truly thought of the difficulties of my situation.

"No, that wouldn't be a worry." His voice was warm and soft and he lifted a large hand off his mug and placed it on top of mine squeezing it. "Izzy, I still think you are the most wonderful woman around and this _pregnancy_ doesn't change it. Whatever you want from me I offer it, money, a home, a husband?" He added the last option in a light hearted teasing note. I caught my breath and looked up at him.

"Are you serious?" I barely dared to breathe; my salvation had just been handed to me. "What do you want?"

"Isabella, I would marry you tomorrow, give this child the security of my name and a stable upbringing if that is what you want. Granted I find you enchanting and I hope that this attraction can grow into love with a little bit of time. But I don't want to force you into that if you don't want to. Didn't you say there was someone else?"

"No," I shook my head. "It was an infatuation and it will never be." I hesitated.

"Was it your flatmate, the Phantom chap? Tatiana told me he had a girlfriend, that can't be easy." At Richard's name the tears decided to make a reappearance, although this time Ralph reached over and gently wiped them away. "Hey, you didn't sleep with him, you slept with me and I am honoured you made that choice. What can I say, Isabella will you marry me?

This wasn't how I imagined a proposal. It should have been a romantic evening in a restaurant, my future husband (looking very like Richard) down on one knee. Instead it was in a coffee shop, I was lying through my teeth to the man opposite me and he was duped enough to do the honourable thing and offer to marry me, even though we were not in love. I hesitated a modicum. "Please be aware that I don't love you Ralph," I said, giving him an escape route. I think you are a lovely kind and decent person but..." He silenced me with a finger against my lips.

"Hush, I realise that, but hopefully love can grow. We are still attracted to each other and that is a lot more then many people have. So, will you marry me Isabella? Let me be a father to our child and a husband to you?" I held his gaze, my heart breaking as I forced myself to say the word.

"Yes, yes Ralph, I will." His preppy smile appeared on his face and he sat back in his chair; relaxing slightly.

"You've made me a very happy person Izzy. Shall I return the favour, there is still half a day left, so let's skip work and go and buy you and engagement ring shall we?"

* * *

It was nearly five by the time we had selected a suitably large solitaire diamond. I realised the power of money as Ralph drew out his platinum credit card, buying the ring without blanching, even hesitating. It was fitted to my ring within the hour and I was now staring down at the symbol of my future. It felt heavy and wrong on my finger and I hoped that it did not signify what my marriage was to be like.

"Izzy," Ralph said his arm around my shoulders. "Will you come and stay the night with me? I don't want to leave you alone, we have so much to catch up on and talk about." I looked up at he smiled down at me, comforting, safe and warm.

"Yeah," I nodded, glad of an excuse to not have to be by myself for another night. I did not fancy being alone in the flat a second longer. "Can I just go by my place to pick up some clothes first; you can come with me if you like. I suppose we should call Tatty as well?"

"Of course, we can call her on the way back and I can guarantee she will be over in a second. She's been worried about you, you know?" I gave a small snort and relaxed into a smile of my own for the first time – maybe I wasn't as alone as I had first thought.

We made our way up to my flat, my heart a little lighter then it had been that morning. Despite the fact that I still had a broken heart, at least I was doing something positive. What I hadn't expected was what greeted me as I walked through the door.

Richard sat on the sofa; he jumped up as soon as I walked through the door, starring at me with a horrified gaze which then fell on Ralph before lingering on the arm he had wrapped around my waist. I took him in with a look, noted that he was dressed down, jeans, a simple t-shirt, his hair tied back in a short ponytail, bare feet and his mask off his face, glasses on. He was all Ric and not Phantom and I frowned, it was as if he were trying as hard as possible to connect with me.

"Richard," I said as calmly as I could, nodding my head.

"Isabella," he replied matching my tone before switching his gaze to the man that stood beside me. "Ralph."

"Richard, hello," Ralph said professionally. "I didn't recognise you, so, um dressed down." I felt him flinch as he looked at the scar on Ric's face; anger welling up at his reaction. I quashed it down for there was no point getting worked up on his behalf. "I am glad you are here, you can be the first to share in our good news – Izzy and I are getting married! Show him the ring darling." I slowly extended my hand, not daring to look Richard in the eye. On his part he didn't take any steps forward to close the gap, but simply nodded and snorted, although I could feel his gaze burning into me.

"Excuse me, I need to gather my things," I mumbled, stepping away from Ralph's protective grasp and skirting around Richard, rushing to my bedroom and pushing the door shut. I dragged my small black suitcase from under the bed, opening it on the bed and started to dump handfuls of clothing in it as quickly as possible, not bothering to choose or fold. I was shaking hard and I knew the tears would not be far behind. Oh god, why did he have to be here? Why could he not have stayed away?

The door burst open only seconds later and Richard strode in, standing on the other side of the bed, hands on his hips, chest heaving. "Izzy, what the hell are you doing?" His voice was raw but I could still detect the lecturing tone in it.

"Looking after myself," I spat back, biting back my tears. "No thanks to you."

"I didn't mean it that way," there was a quiver in his voice that made me look up and I blanched at the sheen of tears that filmed across his eyes. "Izzy, please..."

"Please what?" I gulped hard. "No Ric, there is no point asking- anything. I will never forgive you for what you did, you destroyed all the trust I had put in you, more so that it wasn't the first time. I don't want to see you anymore."

"What?" For a moment he looked confused. "Let me explain, please?"

"No!" I shouted the word. "You wouldn't let me explain, you didn't give me the benefit of the doubt, so why should I offer it to you?" I glared at him for a moment, watching as a single tear slipped out of his eye and ran down his cheek and I closed my eyes briefly, not wanting to witness his degradation. With a sigh I shook my head and continued on my whirlwind packing.

"Izzy, I love you," the words were spoken firmly but softly and it made me hesitate. Richard rarely said them without prompting, without reason.

"No you don't!"

"I do, Izzy, I love you, I really love you. Please give me a second chance, let me explain?" He was openly begging now his hand held out in supplication and I knew that if I looked at him I would see the tears that were clogging up his voice. I shook my head tightly again.

"No Richard, I can't, I'm sorry. You hurt me too much and I cannot put..." I paused realising I was about to let my secret out. "I cannot put myself in that position. I will never forget the sight of you on that bus, never, and so I will never be able to trust you again. I swallowed hard to try and stop my voice from trembling. "You can stay in this flat, I am moving in with Ralph. I will get the solicitor's papers drawn up and sent to you as soon as I can."

"Izzy?" I ignored him and continued.

"I will also be handing the Cluinn account over to Tatiana as I think it is best to maintain a professional distance as well as a personal one. Good luck with your tour, I am sure it will go well – especially if you manage to avoid beating Jim up again." My voice was cool and formal as I threw in the last few things from my dresser, grabbing a tissue and wiping my eyes. "I hope it goes well for you in the future." I dragged my case off the bed and trailed it behind me, trying not to look at him, standing there, knowing that he was falling apart inside as much as I was. It made it so much more difficult, but I had chosen my course and could not veer off now.

"I will always love you Isabella," he said taking a step towards me. "And I will always be grateful for all that you've done both for me and the band." He inhaled and his voice finally broke. "Good luck my darling Izzy." I practically ran from the room, unable to spend another second in there with him. It was almost as if it were another man from the one I had seen on Saturday, which had been Phantom, this was my beloved Ric.

I was crying openly as I left, unable to control the tears that flooded down my cheeks. I walked over to Ralph, his face openly shocked at my lack of disposition, however to his credit he simply put his arms around me and hurried me back to his flat.

* * *

It was almost easy after that – the thing I had been fearing the most, seeing Richard again; facing up to the truth had been a painful five minutes but I had managed to survive it, to catharsis the pain; even though I had been on the edge of breaking up, taking the hand he had offered me and forgiving him, once more. But I had remained strong, held up and walked out. The spine of steel that I seemed to have grown overnight came in useful in the intervening weeks.

To say that Cheyne senior (now to be lovingly called Peter) and Annabel his wife welcomed me with open arms would be over exaggerating slightly. There was a difficult conversation with them both, tight lipped and white faced; their blame very much placed on their son – the golden boy of the family, for being stupid enough to get a girl pregnant, especially as a one night stand.

However, the fact that I was the daughter of a friend, also that I was standing firm on my morals did give me some leeway and it was with a grudging respect that they accepted me into their family. It was agreed by all, that the wedding would be a civil affair, quiet and restrained – there was no need to attract unnecessary attention to the speed with which Ralph and I had become engaged and married – fingers and tongues would only be wagged and slander spread. The date was set for six weeks after our hasty engagement, a civil wedding at Chelsea Registry office. Annabel Cheyne was slightly put out that I seemed to have no one to represent my family, that side of the room remaining empty – even Anne and Mags were unable to attend, for the notice period was so short.

It was only a few days before the happy event that Annabel called to me as I came in through the front door. I had been spending the day with Tatiana, shopping for a dress for her before we had a family dinner. "Isabella," my future mother-in-law's voice was sharp as she called from the study at the front of the house. I bit down a groan and went and stood in the doorway, my dutiful smile on my face, wondering what small detail she could upbraid me on now.

I had realised over the past few weeks that she was a perfectionist, the house and herself always formally presented without a hair out of place. I understood the whispered unity between Tatiana and Ralph now, their relationship with their parents was not an easy one. I would not be getting a warm and comforting surrogate mother with my marriage.

Her eyes drifted across me, towards the hand that I protectively clasped across my belly. The baby was still quite a way from moving, but at the twelve weeks, I was started to feel more human, the promised hormones flowing through my body and my energy returning, so that I was starting to connect even more with the child growing inside me. I couldn't wait for the first few kicks.

My medical care had been transferred to the private Portland hospital, the NHS far too basic for the future Cheyne heir. I had my scan at twelve weeks, Ralph electing to stay away, claiming that women's things made him feel queasy. Instead Tatty had accompanied me, sitting for once in awed silence as she saw her little niece or nephew wriggling around on the grainy picture on the monitor. I had laid there, tears streaming down my face and in my mind telling Ric that our child was happy and healthy, all the information and measurements being correct and present and within guidelines. The only thing, the radiographer mentioned with a frown, was that the baby seemed to be quite big for my dates, not that it worried them as it could all sort itself out. But that was a week ago and now I stood looking at Annabel and wondering what she had to say, even though I desperately wanted to go and lie down, have some time to myself.

"Izzy," she said with a smile. "I have had a reply from one of your guests and they enclosed a private note for you," she said to me with a polished smile, holding out a sealed envelope, hotel stationary in its appearance.

"Guests?" To my knowledge, the only people I had invited had been Anne and Mags, both sending their best wishes but apologies.

"Well, Tatiana and I were so worried that no one would be there for you that she was able to get an address for your old flatmate and his group – I believe they are your friends?" I felt my heart sink into my shoes at her words. It had only been by not thinking about Ric, or Cluinn that I had managed to survive these past six weeks. I had saved my crying for when I was alone, infuriatingly little, but occasionally in the bath or in the middle of the night as I couldn't sleep, I lay there and let the tears flow down my cheeks. "Tatty was able to get their location as she does their PR. So kind of her don't you agree?" I nodded dumbly and took the envelope from her outstretched hand.

"Please excuse me Annabel," I said with a trembling smile, making sure that I didn't forget my manners. With slow steps I went up to the room that Ralph and I shared when we came to stay, collapsing on the bed and opening the envelope with my name written on it in Richard's scrawl – the writing that used to be littered around my little flat on a hundred pages of notes, sheet music, shopping lists and text books.

Inside a folded sheet of paper turned out to be a flyer advertising the venues the band were playing on their tour. It was a punishing schedule that they were about halfway through. According to this they were due to play Cardiff International Arena that evening, not quite the vast millennium stadium, but still a huge venue, attesting to their growing popularity in the United Kingdom. It helped that the second single they had released, two days after I had parted way with Richard, had soared to the dizzy heights of number three in the charts. The album was also sticking in the top ten, now there for over sixteen weeks.

But it still did not explain this cryptic message, until I shook the envelope and a CD fell out. I looked at it in curiosity, for it simply held the words, 'this is how it feels' in Richard's handwriting. There was no explanation; no note no words and I began to wonder what was happening. I was worried that it might be some sort of spoken plea – hearing his voice talking to me would be horrific – it was bad enough listening to him singing on the radio; I had become a big fan of Classic FM, anything to avoid listening to his rock music.

But I had to find out what was on this CD and so I walked over to the old player that sat on the shelf and put the CD in, pressing play and sitting back down on the bed with the remote control, listening to what had been recorded. Ric's voice flooded the room, soft and haunting

_Take me by the hand,_

_And lead me to the slaughter,_

_Close my eyes and sing just let it go._

_The warmest rain, it falls_

_On the darkest crimson mountains._

_Seeping from the wound,_

_I think alone._

The tears started to run down my face as I listened to the words.

_Don't say the pain will fade tomorrow;_

_The last thing that I'll feel will be today._

_Hey._

_You, you, you,_

_Don't you know?_

_You took upon my soul._

_(I'll never feel this way again)_

_You, you, you,_

_Don't you know?_

_you put me on my knees_

_and cut my throat._

_(I'll never feel this way again)_

"You bastard," I muttered as the song went on in the background. The blame it was placing on me, the guilt – the thought that he was possibly suffering at the hand of my actions when I suffering equally.

_I lost my positivity._

_I'm positively lost._

_I thought the path was obvious; it's not._

_Resign myself to failed potential,_

_The wind it hits the sails._

_My scarred hands sustain in these two nails._

_But don't say the pain will fade tomorrow;_

_The last thing that I feel will be today._

_Hey_

The tears had started to run fully down my face now. The thought that he was down and depressed and that this song was his outlet and expression for that had me burying my face in the pillow, biting my hand to try and stop myself crying out loud. Then I heard the end, pounding chords repeating again and again, the music invasive and persistent in its tone.

_This is how it feels._

_This is how it feels._

The words were repeated again and again, pounding into my brain so that the guilt and unhappiness became mine. There was little I could do but fall to the floor, weeping my heart out.

**The End...**

**Or is it?**

**The end of Part One most definitely, but it can't be the final end - at least I hope not. Please tell me what you think - should it end here and be a horrible angsty piece, or can there be some retribution for our characters (they are refusing to remain quiet in my head, so there are stories to be told).**

**The lyrics are The Light that Burns Twice as Bright by Lost Prophets from the album The Betrayed**


	36. Pt 2 Chapter 36

**You knew that I couldn't leave it like that - there is far too much unsaid and undone. Thank you all for your reviews, ideas and suggestions. Yes Izzy is totally out of control at the end of part one, rather hit the self-destruct button hadn't she. I hope that I managed to get across that having lived through the situation of her parent's death she is very good at creating chaos around her and destroying her own happiness - self damaging. I didn't like her very much at the end and I know some of you agreed. And what about Ric? Sorry he isn't in this chapter, but I will forewarn you that I will have to start switching between the two characters, the story cannot continue from Izzy's point of view alone - their lives are too far apart now. Anyway, lecture over, keep reading and please keep reviewing - it was so heartening to read all your comments and know that you are behind this story. Pips xox**

Part Two

Chapter Thirty-Six

I grabbed my anorak from the rack in the boot room and dashed out of the kitchen door into the pouring rain, avoiding any of the family gathered in the living room and Annabel who was in the kitchen. Outside the sky was slate grey and the rain pelted down, destroying the last of the late summer blooms, scattering rose petals and leaves over the spotless grass, the water gathering in any slight dip in the lawn, the hard earth unable to soak it up quickly enough.

It was as if the seasons had finally decided to change and Mother Nature had sent a storm to drive away any remaining traces of the warm weather we had been enjoying. September was in its dying days, October only a Sunday away and the season had turned autumnal overnight. It suited my mood, long sunny days and warm evenings were for merry times, happiness and being in love – I wasn't any of those and so the cold dreariness of rain suited my mood.

I walked around the perimeter of the acreage, ostensibly keeping under the trees for protection, but the rain dripped off the leaves and onto my hat, so that I was barely any drier then if I had walked straight across the middle of the lawn. Out here the tears could flow unchecked, mingling with the rain, so that I could not distinguish what was making my face wet. All I knew was that my heart was breaking.

Until now I had been able to steel myself against the emotions that kept rising up inside me. I could survive by dredging up my hate and disgust at Richard's actions on tour. I would close my eyes and envisage the picture of him standing there, tied up, his penis hanging out. I could feel the revulsion in me just by recalling the scene and would drive it to the point when the metallic taste of hate would well up as nausea in my mouth. Then I could straighten my shoulders and continue on my chosen path, lying to Ralph, Tatiana, their parents and just about anyone I spoke to on a daily basis. I told Anne that I was perfectly happy, did not return Mags call on my mobile and flatly refused to have any contact with anyone from Cluinn, despite Angus sending me several e-mails.

Unfortunately, Ric had managed to unnerve me with the lyrics to his song. I knew that they were just that – words, no more then a song, but the despair and venom with which they had been penned was personal. I raised a clenched fist to my mouth to try and stifle the cry that came out involuntarily. It was built of anger, rage, and my own despair. He didn't realise what I was sacrificing for both of us. I could not hand him the baton of responsibility that I knew would go with a child. He was carving out a very successful career with this music and to dump parental dues on him was not fair. The fact that his actions had destroyed my belief in his ability to be a caring partner and parent just added to my unwillingness to let him know.

But at the same time; even though I had chosen Ralph, more out of fear then anything else, I didn't think he was deserving of the honour either. I soon realised that there was a huge duality to Ralph Cheyne, one that I was having problems accepting. He was good at his job; that much was obvious for he had a natural charm and attention to detail. However he also switched personality as soon as he walked through his front door. When I once asked him why he shed his maturity as soon as he took off his suit, he had shrugged saying that he had enough of responsibility at work, he didn't need for it to follow him home and just wanted to relax.

And I soon realised what his definition of relaxing was. He and Tatiana drunk vast amounts of alcohol, both of them easily getting through a bottle each a night and at the weekend when there was no work to get up for, then the other stimulants were used. I looked on in shock the first time the little bag of white powder came out and Ralph used his credit card to chop up two fat lines on the surface of a photo frame. They both snorted the lines of coke up their noses, falling about with gregarious laughter before stumbling out the door to a party. I used my pregnancy as an excuse to stay at home and have an early night when in fact I was simply horrified. Ric had not been a huge drinker and far as I was aware did not touch drugs – in fact the only person who I knew that had anything approaching a habit was Jim with his dog eared spliffs and then they made him mellow, not the buzzing frenetic energy that the cocaine gave my future husband.

As my knight on his white charger became tarnished, I started to reconsider Richard's actions, not having a flawless character to compare him to. Which was worse, habitual A-class drug taking or cheating on someone? The question revolved endlessly in my head as it seemed to be without an answer. Neither made me want to fall into the other man's arms and so I was left in limbo, physically with one man, mentally longing after another who I would not forgive. My pride was a very heavy cross to bear.

My aimless wandering had taken me in a whole circuit of the large garden, beautifully maintained by the gardener, past the swimming pool that had now been covered over for the winter and around the rose beds, where the gnarled bushes stuck out thorny branches across the grass pathways, catching on my jeans, so that when I pulled free I scattered more dead petals that the rain had not removed. As I moved closer to the house I heard a knocking at the window and looked up, saw my fiancée knocking on the glass. I paused and looked at him, wiping any remaining tears out of my eyes. He didn't like to see me crying, it was of the many things I did that made him feeling uncomfortable. He opened the window as I stood there, leaning out slightly his forehead knotted into a frown.

"For God's sake Isabella, what are you doing outside in the pouring rain? Come inside at once!" I stared back at him mutely, not quite sure how to react to such an order. He saw me hesitating and the frown deepened, his mouth puckering with displeasure. "You are getting wet and will get ill, stop being so silly!" Of course, that was the crux of the matter – Ralph hated it if I did anything out of the ordinary, behaved out of character or context, was eccentric in anyway. Walking in the pouring rain was classed as such.

"I am just coming in," I replied with a sigh. "I just needed some fresh air." I nodded to him and moved on past, heading to the back door so that I could take off my wellingtons and sopping coat. I pushed my wet hair out of my face and realised that despite being well covered, the water had managed to drip off my hat and run down my neck. My hair, gathered off my head in a ponytail was wet. The warmth of the house was comforting and I slipped off upstairs to take a shower and warm up, the tears had dried up and now I just felt numb.

I was sitting on the bed wrapped in my dressing gown, drying my hair when he came up to see me. "Why did you go out in the rain?" he asked collapsing on to the bed next to me and lying down. He was hungover and unshaven, having been awake until the early hours of the morning, drinking and talking with his sister and a friend who had stayed down.

"I like to try and walk everyday, it's healthy for me and the baby," I said over the roar of the hair dyer, brushing out my dark locks. My hand stilled for a moment as I did so and I glanced over at Ralph with a frown. I was dark haired, very dark haired and he was classic surfer blonde. I wonder what coloured hair my child would have, for I could guarantee that it would not be the colour of the man next to me, Richard was a light brown; shots of red creating natural highlights in his hair, but there was no way either of us would produce a blonde hair, brown eyes child. As parents we were both dark and blue eyed, genetics would not allow for our child to be anything else.

"You are silly Izzy," he said rolling over so that his head was near my hip. He smiled up at me, his hand creeping to where my gown split open as I sat cross legged.

"Ralph, no," I said, shifting away from his intended touch. I was not in the mood for sex.

"Izzy!" He pouted. "You are so bloody cold with me all the time – we've only done it like three times in the past two months!"

"Yes and I am pregnant, it rather plays havoc with your hormones," I responded with my classic excuse. "Apparently it changes as the pregnancy matures, but right now it is as appealing as eating mud!" He laughed at me stupid analogy and pushed me over so that the hair dryer fell out of my hand and I was lying next to him.

"How can you say this is horrible?" His hand crept up under my top, the feeling of his fingers grazing over my breasts making me shiver, rather then turn me on as he intended. I sighed slightly. "Come on Izzy," he crooned shifting so that his head was near mine, bending over and pressing a kiss to my lips. I responded with a chaste peck. I did not want sex right now – with anybody!

He was not to be deterred and his fingers continued to move over my boobs, kneading and pressing their swollen flesh, accepting my gasp of pain as an agreement to continue. It was easier not to fight him and so instead I switched off in my mind as I had the past few times we had gone to bed together. I was already recognising a pattern to his love making. He went straight for my boobs at all times, stimulating them until he thought I was turned on, before flipping me over and taking me from behind. No eye contact, no intimacy – very detached. It was strange and impersonal way to make love and I hated it, flagging up my pregnancy for not participating more.

Ten messy minutes later and I felt him slump against me and then withdraw. I let myself sink to my stomach and buried my face in the pillow so he couldn't see that it was once again wet with tears. All I could think about was Ric and our silly; energetic, passionate lovemaking sessions. I briefly felt Ralph press a kiss to my head. "Are you going to have a nap darling? Shall I see you downstairs later?" I nodded, unable to find the words to reply.

There was only one thought running through my mind on a continuous loop. _I cannot marry this man, I cannot marry this man, I cannot marry this man._

* * *

I had to wait until after supper before I managed to be alone with Ralph again. We were sitting in the snug, a fire lit in the grate for the first time that autumn, testimony to the coolness the rain had bought in. I relaxed back into the sofa with a groan, feeling my stomach full and tight. There was a certain advantage to wearing maternity trousers, I could eat quite a lot and they expanded with my growing waist. Right now I was feeling very replete, having eaten my fill.

Ralph slumped into the sofa next to me, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning his head back, closing his eyes. We were due to return home tomorrow afternoon and I hoped that he would take things easy tonight. So far he hadn't drunk as much as usual – I decided to take my chance.

"Ralph," I said as sweetly as I could, leaning over, running my fingers through his hair.

"Mmmm," he didn't really respond.

"Um, I've been doing some thinking recently and I was wondering about things."

"What things Izzy?" His tone was abrupt, not encouraging conversation. Unlike Richard I rarely was given his full attention on anything.

"Well you – me – our forthcoming nuptials." My words made him open his eyes and turn his head in my direction, his eyes narrowing in my direction.

"What about them?"

"Do you ever feel like life is a little out of control at the moment? Things have just been taken out of our hands and I am now just feeling…well, unsure. We are suppose to be getting married in a week and suddenly I am not sure if I am ready to commit, that is all." The lines on his forehead deepened and I bit my lips with worry – he didn't understand my hesitant explanation.

"Isabella," he sat up straighter. "Are you telling me you want to call off the wedding?"

"Not call it off, delay it – until after the baby is born. I just feel like such a hormonal mess at the moment, not myself at all. I want to marry you when we are ready, not in haste because of my situation." More lip biting, they were going to be ripped to shreds.

"You were the one who came and dumped this all in my lap," his voice was bitter, bordering on angry. "You wanted to get married so the baby would not be born a bastard. Why have you changed your mind?" I blanched slightly, not because his tone of voice held anger, having witnesses my ex-boyfriend's temper, Ralph was mild mannered by comparison. Instead it was the relief that I saw buried in the depths of his eyes that made me hold his gaze.

"Ralph, the one thing I have maintained all along is that I don't love you. We are having a child together," I said the words quickly, it made it easier. "But getting married for that alone is not a real reason and two wrongs don't make a right. I accepted because I was scared, but now thinking about it…" I trailed off, unable to say anymore, but just sat there, fiddling with my hair, looking at the floor, anywhere but letting him meet my gaze, scared he might see something there.

"You still don't love me?" His tone was petulant; demanding as if he were a child denied a toy they wanted and not talking about more important affairs. I didn't trust myself to answer and just shook my head.

"Ralph – it is not your fault, it is mine. As I said I am feeling overwhelmed at the moment and when I finally say 'I do' I want to mean it with all my heart." I looked at him with as little guile as I could muster, the irony of the situation not lost on me. I had told lies to get myself into this mess and now I was telling more to try and get myself out of it. At least if I did it now the pain and damage to people's lives would be as minimal as possible. He sniffed at my response.

"Do you even want to stay engage?" His eyes drifted to the large diamond that I wore on my ring finger, the flawless carat catching the light and sparkling away. Right now it felt as heavy and possessive as if I were wearing handcuffs.

"Yes," I glanced down at my hand, spreading my fingers and looking at the jewellery. "As I said, I simply want to delay the wedding, have our baby first, get use to the idea of being parents and then when we are ready get married." In truth his behaviour with regards to my pregnancy did not fill me with hope for his surrogate father role, another reason I did not want to tie myself to him in wedlock – I would be locked for life!

"Humph," he was unable to formulate a response, mainly because I think he was glad to be handed such a get out clause. "Well, you had better go and tell my mother; she had put a lot of work into organising everything for next weekend!" Somehow I doubted this was true, we had planned on a quiet wedding at Chelsea Registry Office, followed by a meal at a restaurant. No extra family were invited to the reception afterwards so it was not a large event to cancel, my dress was an off the peg affair, extra large to hide my swelling figure and the room we had booked for our 'first night' was at the Park Lane hotel, Ralph's employer; so no charges would be levied. We hadn't bothered planning a honeymoon. No, there was very little to unravel.

"Fine," I was so glad to be able to stop the wedding that even this threat did not seem so great. I climbed off the sofa. "You can tell Tatty and your Father, I will speak to your Mother." I practically skipped out of the room, or would have if my legs hadn't been so wobbly and my stomach doing flips. I wasn't too keen on facing Annabel Cheyne, for I knew she could cut me with simply a look. Instead I took a deep breath and went into the living room.

She was sitting in a wing chair reading a book under an angle poise lamp, her legs neatly together under her stylish skirt, ankles crossed in a feminine manner, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a neat chignon. "Yes Isabella," she looked up as I walked in, standing in the darkened centre of the room, feeling large and uncouth compared to her restrained elegance.

"Can I just have a word Annabel?" I asked and sat down when she nodded, placing her book to one side and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Every movement was done with decorum and ladylike elegance. She gestured for me to speak. "Well, the thing is, Ralph and I have been talking and I have been thinking and we were, hoping that if it is not too inconvenient, we would, um, well...we would rather quite like to delay the wedding." I mumbled through an excuse that lacked all the poise of the women sitting opposite me.

"You wish to delay the wedding?" she repeated levelly, obviously unsure if she had heard correctly given my mumbled words. I nodded. "Why? I thought you were keen given your impending state," her gaze was directed at my stomach.

"That is an excuse to get married, not a reason Annabel," I said sadly, my hand involuntarily drifting to my stomach. "I have decided and Ralph has agreed that it would be better to wait. Fools rush in after all!" She smiled slightly at my quote.

"Indeed. Well Izzy," I started slightly, surprised that she used my nickname. "If that is what you truly wish then I will cancel it all for you on Monday." I hesitated, amazed at how calmly she had taken the news, expecting her to pout and complain, throw a tantrum at the selfishness of my gesture when she had put so much work into the planning. She saw my hesitation and smiled the first real smile I had seen on her face since Ralph and I announced our 'news'. "Marry in haste, repent at leisure Izzy. I would hate for you to make such a mistake and I think it is a very wise move – you can always get married later and there isn't the social stigma of being an unmarried Mother these days." I nodded and gulped, levering myself up from the sofa and smiling at her.

"Thank you for being so understanding Annabel," I said softly, a single tear leaking out of my eye. "I think Tatty might be disappointed."

"Oh tosh, she will get over it," Annabel waved her hand in a deprecatory manner. "Her disappointment will last a few day, but imagine the years if you rushed into this marriage." I nodded at her words, surprised that she seemed so keen that I wait. It was possible that she realised I didn't love her son and was doing her best to protect him, but there something in her manner that I could not place my finger on. Her behaviour was not as I had imagined.

I excused myself and went in search of Ralph. He was still in the same position that I had left him in, possibly slumped a little lower on the sofa, his head a little more buried into the cushions. "How did Mamma take it then?" he asked languidly.

"Fine, she understood, thought we were being very sensible actually." He looked up as I spoke frowning.

"Doesn't sound like my Mother," he mentioned. "Oh well, that means we have next weekend free – Paul and Tory are going down to the Isle of Wight and we can join them. That will be fun won't it and keep your mind off what we should have been doing?" I nodded weakly. I couldn't really care less what we did next weekend; at least I wasn't getting myself into an irreversible situation. I needed to regain control of my life and it seemed that a man, any man would be unable to play a starring role.

* * *

As I had predicted, Tatiana was put out when I went into work on Monday, pouting at me as I sat down. "And we found that fantastic dress," was her opening comment. I merely smiled. Of all the Cheyne family, I had the best relationship with Tatty, enjoying her straight talking way; even if she spent far too much time hanging around the periphery of her brother's life. I had realised over the past few weeks that she was desperately insecure and simply wished for someone to enter her life and sweep her off her feet. It had once been my dream.

"You still have a hundred places to wear it Tat," I returned, sitting down and firing up my computer, glad that my mornings were no longer a digestive nightmare. I had told the office my exciting news and it had been received with many best wishes and happiness. They also didn't look so worried when I sat there eating chocolate bars, my feet propped up on the trash can as my ankles swelled in the afternoon.

"Suppose so," she rejoined, her eyes flicking through her e-mails, before she paused. "Oh my god!"

"What?" Her shriek made me stand up with worry and was loud enough to make several people turn and look before she continued. "Cluinn's album had just been announced as going Platinum!"

"Platinum!" I looked up from my work, my jaw dropping open, unable to digest the news. It meant that the boys had sold a million copies of their album – one million in five months was a stunning achievement. No wonder they were started to be referred to with such monikers as 'the mighty' and 'the unstoppable' Cluinn. Such achievement also boded well for the upcoming Brits.

"What do you think about putting a label on the cover with the next run saying that it contains 'Where we Belong' and 'Burn it Down' and 'Broken'?" Tatiana tapped where she could see a label as she passed me the jewel case of the CD over the width of our desks and I took it from her slightly reluctantly, staring at the cover. I had seen this CD so much, but rarely in its entirety. I had sat down with the band, listening to them arguing over the cover artwork, the lyrical contents, the colour of the jewel case, but my copy of the CD was on a recordable disc and my iPod, I didn't own a final pressing of the album.

"Why do you need to list 'Broken' as one of the draws?" I asked with a grimace. I tried to ignore my contribution to the whole process, the debacle of the video and performance at Glastonbury too raw, too intense to be part of my current life. I had only agreed to sing with Richard in the first place because I loved him so much – I didn't need reminding of that.

"It has such a dedicated following Iz!" She sounded shocked at my lack of knowledge. "Basically the way you can tell if you are a proper Cluinn fan or not are that you are aware of 'Broken', know the name of the mystery woman in the music and can sing the words. If you don't then you are simply someone who has picked up the song on the radio. I frowned not realising this. In the past couple of months I had handed over the promotion of Cluinn in its entirety to Tatiana, not wanting a daily reminder of what I had been part of. Like so many situations in life the energy and people had shifted and I had gone from being at the centre of the crew surrounding the band to locked out on the outside, no knowledge or information about what was happening. It was easier that way.

I glanced at the cover, noticing where the logo fell, their name in a chunky gothic script, the bottom of the letters crumbling away and into the title of the album. It was a simple cover but forceful, standing out on the shelves of the shops. I should know because I blanched every time I saw one. "Yeah, that should work; you just don't want to cover up the writing, so maybe a see-through one would be good. I opened the CD case and pulled out the internal flyer, flicking through the booklet, my eyes travelling over the words, but not taking them in, looking instead at the grainy photos inside, allowing myself for the first time in weeks to look at the band. They were stylised photos of them performing, Sandy sweaty on the drums, his head flying everywhere, the slow exposure of the photos making his hands a blur, Angus sitting on an amp tuning his guitar, Jim playing at a gig and Phantom roaring into the microphone, his half mask on, eyes screwed up in concentration, hair in a sweaty tangle around his face. It felt like only yesterday that I had been there with him; when I actually hadn't seen any of the band for over six weeks.

My eyes fell on the back leaf, grazing over the listings of where the album had been recorded, who had mixed the music, produced it and mastered the songs, a list of the products that used, the management team and in a few small paragraphs, the thanks of the band. Sandy thanked his friends and family, the rest of the band and his brother for teasing him enough to take up the drums. Angus mentioned similar, as well as a few names I didn't recognise. Jim payed tribute to Alanya's love and patience and his family's support throughout the years, as well as the friendship of the rest of the group. And then I read Phantom's tribute and felt my body shake. "I would like to thank my Grandparents for their unfailing love and support for all these years and for pointing me in the right direction. To all those who have stood by me these past years and put up with my crap and to Izzy, for being the most wonderful person ever!" I murmured under my breath, feeling myself choke as I read the words – it was such a personal tribute, not echoing the actions of the man who wrote them. I paused and licked my lips before muttering again. "Bastard!"

I handed the case back to my colleague and using force of will, pushed down the memories, turning instead to my work – there was no point moping, I had made my decisions and it was time to live with them as best I could.


	37. Chapter 37

**Okay, here it is (deep breath). I couldn't write Ric in the first person, can't get inside his head in the same way. But I hope that you enjoy this chapter none the less and understand a little more about his actions in the last chapter. As always please review - it makes my day.**

Chapter 37

Ric laid his head back against the cushions with a groan. They were back on the coach again, six of them crammed into the bus – plus luggage; the instruments that were deemed too necessary or loved to be packed up and any hangers on that had somehow wangled their way past the thuggish security of Mick and Dave. He had just spent two nights in a hotel room – in a proper bed- sheer bliss, with a powerful hot shower and more importantly a degree of privacy. It had also meant that their portable accommodation had a chance to be cleaned and aired. It no longer stuck of sweat, dirty washing and half eaten food.

It was only a short drive today, less then an hour to move over the Welsh border to Bristol. Another concert venue, another stage and another audience, it was all getting so monotonous, the separate concerts merging into one big blur. Sure, when they went on stage, when the crowd started cheering then the adrenalin rush would kick in and he was fine; he could play and sing forever, or as long as his voice held out, just as long as the audience was behind him and the rest of the band. But the mind numbing long hours that stretched achingly between concerts were a different matter.

He was so used to being hyperactively busy, to having his days full to bursting that being bored was an unpleasant experience. Until now he always had something to fall back on, music, law, the normality of keeping the flat running, spending time with Izzy. Izzy! At the thought of her name Ric squeezed his eyes shut, channelling his brain to think of anything else, anything at all. He counted to twenty in Latin '_primus, secundus, tertius, quartus'_ that required enough concentration to blank his mind, although for a second it had shut up tight, like a muscle cramping, refusing to relax and let anything else flow. She was getting married next weekend, married to the blonde buffoon – then man she had claimed she had not been flirting with. Had it all been a lie, had she been carrying on behind his back since early in the year as Tatiana had insinuated and he had accused her? Either way she had cruelly sent him a wedding invitation, or someone had – he had received it with the handing out of mail.

Being on tour was a bit like being at boarding school again. It reminded him of the early years of being a chorister at St Mary's; for the routine wasn't that different. There was a meeting every morning, per diems handed out every week like pocket money and mail forwarded on by the record company was handed out every other day. Shit, they even had a house father in the form of the tour manager Pete and occasionally Devlin would swoop down to praise and criticise in equal measure as a headmaster would. It was like being a child again, even if every night he sung of love, sex, passion, despair and hate; rather then the hymns and choral pieces he had grown up with.

But even drawing parallels of being on tour with his childhood could not divert his mind from thinking about his ex. Like a dog with a bone his memories returned time and time again to remembering her, using any slight mark as a reminder. Buying a magazine he would notice the favourite one she always read, tuning his guitar he was reminded of the way she use to curl up in the chair and watch him play, even eating food – remembering her cooking. He knew why, for in a moment of anger he had replied to the invitation he had screwed up and thrown on the floor, sent her a recording of a song that he'd laid down about a month ago, describing all the pain and rejection he felt. He hadn't planned on ever letting anyone hear it, the lyrics were too cruel, too damming; but then receiving the invitation had cut him and it had hurt, so he decided to send a blow back. At the last minute he had enclosed a flyer of the tour so she could see where he was, all the cities he was going to; see how busy he was, far too hectic to be thinking about her – except when he was alone on the tour bus, gazing out the window at the grey miles of motorway.

"Are you busy thinking or d'you mind if I join you?" Ric glanced up startled to see Pete standing next to him, hanging onto the edge of the luggage shelf against the swaying of the coach. He pulled a face and indicated the seat opposite, removing his legs from the cushions so the other man could sit down; which he did with a groan, flinging his clipboard onto the table in front of them. Pete had been up since six, making sure the lorry and bus were loaded, checking them all out of the hotel, rousing the crew and counting them on to the coach. In contrast he and the rest of the boys had woken up, packed and after breakfast wandered on to the coach about ten, safe in the knowledge it wouldn't be leaving without them. Even still punctuality was vital, for every day was scheduled down to the last minute.

"How you doing Tom?" Pete enquired casually, casting him an oblique glance that Ric didn't miss. He grimaced in return.

"Fine mate, fine," he muttered in return, drawing a leg up and wrapping his arms around it, yawning at the same time.

"Been sleeping okay?"

"Yeah," Ric frowned wondering why he was being fired twenty questions. "It's easy in a hotel bed," he added, realising his replies were monosyllabic.

"As long as you sleep," Pete added, glancing over at Sandy who was sprawled out on a bunk, his snores softly filling the air. "I think he was up most of the night again – pretty little bit of skirt this time at least, the one he picked up at Exeter was a right wolf!"

"Well Sand had his beer goggles on and thought she was the most beautiful women in the world at the time," Ric replied with a soft laugh. "We did try and tell him different, but he wouldn't listen."

"As long as he's taking precautions..." Pete hesitated, as if he were teetering on the edge of a lecture he wasn't sure would be well received. Ric simply shrugged, turning his face away and stared at the road again.

"I wouldn't worry, Sandy's pretty careful – he knows too much about the dangers of STI's, worked as a biochemist for several years." He supplied the information, knowing that although it wasn't public knowledge Pete could be trusted with the information. Heck, he was even tempted to throw the mask aside and demand that he was known as 'Ric' on the tour bus; only the presence of groupies and lesser crew members stopped him from doing so. At times the whole dual name business was utterly bewildering, especially when he was tired and they had been plenty of occasions in the past months when people were literally shouting his stage name in his face and he was so tuned out that he didn't respond.

"What about the other guys?" The question was asked with such an air of innocence that it made Richard look up from his study of the tarmac racing past the window.

"What is this – sexual education? We're grown men Pete, we can take care of ourselves and know how to strap on a condom, plenty of practice there over the years, don't you worry!" He paused and looked at his tour manager straight. "And tell Dev he needn't panic either, we won't all come down with deadly diseases or leave a wake of unwanted pregnancies." He snorted at the thought, watching as his partner shifted slightly awkwardly in his seat before he relented and flashed him a smile. "Thanks for caring though – Dad!" He added sarcastically with a grin, quietly surprised to see the older man in a position of discomfort. It lasted for all of a second before he regained his usual gruff exterior.

"As if, you sarky so and so," Pete replied laughing slightly. "Can you really imagine me a father?" He gestured to himself, his face in an expression of disbelief. Ric let out a chuckle.

"Very true. How long have you been doing this job for?"

"Spent practically the past fifteen years on tour. Still haven't unpacked my house properly since I moved there."

"Which was?"

"Eight years ago give or take." The tour manager folded his arms behind his head and leant back on the seat, a grin on his face. "UK, Stateside and everywhere else on occasion – spent two years on the road with _Ricitus_ when they did their world tour which was manic and a year in the US and South America on Jas Blakley's _Ambitious_ tour." He stretched out, flexing the muscles in his arms, built up by years of shifting and moving heavy pieces of stage sets and equipment.

"So this is small fry to you, hey Pete?" Ric cut in with a gesture to the tour bus. "Little local UK tour with small venues – walk in the park."

"Not that little, which was one thing I needed to talk to you about. We've had messages from some of the Student Unions saying that they are totally sold out and want to book a second night! Dev is game, would double your number of nights, but I said needed to pass it by the group first."

"Couldn't we upgrade to a bigger place instead? I remember when I was at Uni occasionally if there was a good band they would change from the SU to a local concert hall. Where is full?" Ric was pleasantly surprised. It was hard to tell how full venues were when you were on stage, the lights and music blaring. There always seemed to be an appreciative roar from the audience, but he couldn't tell if the halls were really at capacity.

"Do you really want to know?" Ric nodded. "Well, need to discuss this with the other guys as well, but currently Liverpool, who can upgrade to the O2, Reading who want another night, Sheffield and Manchester Academy who want to do two nights as well. Oh and Edinburgh who want another night and book the Corn Exchange as well!"

"Ha!" Ric let out a hoarse laugh. "Shit, I guess that's good news." He ran his hands through his hair. "But you are right we need to check with the others, want me to rouse Sleeping Beauty over there?" He swung his legs down from the couch and stood up as Pete nodded and moved over to the bunk where Sandy was sprawled out, one leg sticking off the narrow shelf and into the aisle and a pillow hugged to his chest. His face held a look of contentment and Ric found himself hesitating in waking him, he looked so peaceful.

"Sands," he leant down and shook his shoulder, hanging onto the edge of the bunk above for stability. His friend simply muttered and shook the hand off. "Sandy," Ric tried again, more forceful with his action. "Alexander!" He shouted in his ear, bashing him on the shoulder at the same time, causing the sleeping occupant to open his eyes and stare at him in confusion.

"What the fu..." Sandy said sleepily with a yawn as he came to.

"Meeting, five minutes, get your arse over," Ric jerked his head in the direction of the table and sofas at the front of the bus, the unofficial gathering place. He moved in as Angus and Jim pushed past them to go and grab a seat. "Come on, it's your fault that you were up all night anyway."

"Okay, okay," the blonde haired man slid off the bunk, with a well practised move, knowing not to sit up and bash his head on the one above. "You gonna' come for a run when we get to Bristol – I want to go over the suspension bridge," he asked as they went to sit down.

"Sandy, you've had what; three hours sleep, we are playing a gig tonight and you want to go running?"

"Yeah, get's the energy going and besides you need to keep your fitness up as well. Come with me?"

"I don't get a choice, do I?" Ric knew that Sandy would bully him into coming jogging, determined that the whole band stay relatively fit and healthy, not easy when they were out on the road, often with indifferent catering or relying on fast food. It was draining to play a three hour set, the sweat pouring off your body, dehydration setting in and then being expected to party just as hard afterwards. Maybe Sandy had a point, Ric thought, settling down in a spare seat, diverting his gaze from the other band members and to the paper schedule that had been pushed in front of him, at least if he was gasping for breath with aching legs and chest, he wasn't thinking about anything else.

He briefly read the typed list in front of him, noting the hotel they were staying at, the fact that they had an interview for a magazine the next day before a four hour drive up to Liverpool for the next concert – great more time spent on the bus in its confined atmosphere. Maybe he could escape and find a bookshop, grab some new reading material. Even the dry words of the Law Society papers would be a welcome distraction from the monotony.

"Right, good news guys – just released, album has gone Platinum!" Pete launched into the meeting without any formality, causing them all to jump to attention at the news, exchange grins as they glanced around at each other's faces. Ric even managed to meet Jim's eye and exchanged a brief smile. It was astounding and yet in the scheme of things almost to be expected – it was hard to know how to react. "Copy of the press release just issued," more paper was slid in their direction, Angus grabbing it first and reading through the words briefly, his mouth pulled into a frown before passing it on.

"Come on," Ric growled; impatient and wanting to see what was being said. He pulled the paper from his companion's hand and glanced over the few paragraphs, frowning as he read the words, finding the style it was written in forced and unflowing. "Humph," he slid it back into the centre of the table, his mouth a thin line of distaste.

"I know what you are thinking," Angus piped up, as he glanced in Ric's direction. "Not as good as Izzy's style is it?" He simply shrugged in reply, even though it was exactly what was in his mind. Sometimes Angus was just too damn observant, must have been growing up with sisters that did it. "Well, that's good news anyway," the bass guitarist continued mildly, addressing the rest of them gathered around the table.

"Understatement Angus," Jim barged in from the opposite side, his eyes shining with excitement. "This is fuckingly marvellous news. Do you now how sales are going in the US as well Pete?" He drummed his fingers on the table, the noise causing Richard to shrug and turn his head away from the direction of his band mate. He was so fed up with Jim at the moment, their friendship of nearly fifteen years at the most strained it had ever been, he only got through the day by spending as little time as possible in his company and speaking only as much as was necessary. Hard work on a tour bus, but he tried. Shit, probably the air around him filled with ice every time he even looked in Jim's direction. But then his best friend was responsible for hurting him so much, a joke could be taken too far at times.

He could feel Pete's stare as he sat there, gazing at his nails, the cuticles stained with the black nail polish he had painted on to them a few days ago. He couldn't find any remover and so had picked it off in boredom. Only trouble was his fingers were now looking ragged and playing the guitar every night didn't help, wearing his nails down and creating thick calluses along his fingers. He barely had any feeling in his fingertips anymore – really should start to use a plectrum like Jim did, but he had developed a style without one and it was hard to change the habit, a bit like trying to write with his other hand!

"US sales were pushing Gold last time it was checked – forecasts will be in with their morning, so a little while to wait yet Jim, bide your time – it won't be long. Have you thought more about taking up _Never Hear_'s offer?" All eyes swivelled to Richard. He shrugged, hated the way people always seemed to defer to him on unpopular choices.

"I told Dev two weeks ago to accept," Ric replied pushing disinterest to the fore, making it sound as if he couldn't care less. "Opening for one of the biggest rock bands around – heck I have most of their albums, can't turn down an offer like that can we. Madison Square Gardens and all..." He trailed off, unable to help the slight smile that appeared at the corner of his mouth. To be invited by an internationally famous band together for over ten years - to go and open for them – it was the sort of break they could only dream of and would be a huge stepping stone to cornering the American market and lay the way for their own tour that was scheduled to start early the next year.

The only down side was that it required the band to fly out on one of their few rest days, playing the next and flying home on the third and back to their own tour of the UK. It left little room to get over or even realise they were jet lagged and from a physical point of view was horrendously over demanding. But as a chance – it couldn't be turned down!

"If you told Dev, why the fuck couldn't you let us know," Jim demanded; venom in his voice. He had realised the cold shoulder that he was being dealt and everyday became more confused and angry with Richards actions. But Ric simply couldn't find it in him to forgive his friend at the moment – that required peace of mind and equilibrium, neither of which were in his life currently.

"Hadn't got word back that the offer was accepted until this morning," Ric clipped out, pushing his mobile with the e-mail onto the table. "Didn't want to get your hopes up until it was finalised."

"It's my Mum's birthday that weekend," Sandy interjected with a touch of sadness, "Chris and I were going back home for a couple of days to celebrate – oh well," he shrugged and smiled. It was the sacrifice they all had to make for the good of the band and they all knew it. Ric was aware that he should have included the others in the discussion sooner, but he couldn't find the energy or to have to deal with Jim and his questions and demands.

"Seriously Stewart," Jim ground out, getting so worked up that he used Richard's last name – one that he wasn't suppose to have as Phantom. "You are so fucking arsy at the moment, why can't you just snap the hell out of it and start treating the rest of it like we are part of this group rather then your stinking slaves. You are nothing without us and you know it." Ric sighed and glanced at the other two, wondering if Jim was speaking on their behalf or was off on one of his usual woe filled moment. Angus and Sandy shrugged in return, but then they were more chilled out about the whole situation anyway.

"When you start behaving like an adult McCullough," he bit back in return. "Which will probably be when heaven becomes hell? Now shut up and let's finish this meeting." He threw the last words out in a sneer – no point being polite to that useless excuse for a grownup. It shut Jim up long enough for Pete to mention the increased booking of the arenas and the upgrading from the student union halls to the local city arenas.

"I am gonna' rename this the upgrade tour at this rate," Pete concluded, when they had run down the list, the whole group giving their approval on the extra dates and larger venues. It added another week and a half to their tour, so that they now finished only a few days before Christmas, their final concert in Edinburgh for the university – finishing where it had all started. Ric found himself idly doodling on the edge of the press release with a spare pen, his mind elsewhere as Pete continued to talk about the logistics of the tour – they seemed to go over so much of the same ground everyday – he had already memorised most of the schedule, having spent the last decade in study it had become second nature to cram facts into his brain. Nowadays he did it subconsciously.

"And one last thing," their tour manager concluded mildly, the tone of voice causing Ric to look up, not likely its placid tone, not like the gruffly spoken man at all. "Just wanted to say that Bobbie managed to get the hotel to waiver most of the damage to the room over the weekend, argued it out so that didn't end up charging three K, which is what they wanted to try and do, so buy him a drink next time, hey."

"Wait, wait," Richard butted in, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Who did three grand's worth of damage to a hotel suite?" His eyes scanned the other three members of the group, all of whom sat with a degree of guilt on their faces, although his gaze rested on Jim. "James, don't tell me you wrecked a hotel room?"

"Fuck it Ric," he snarled back at the unfriendly tone of voice used. "I pulled some curtains down and flooded the bathroom, not exactly worth three thousand pounds; they were just trumping up charges because they think we have money and will pay it. It was hardly destroying a suite.

"Pulling curtains down, what are you a child or a dog?" Richard's voice rose to a shout and he stood up, aghast at the spoilt behaviour of the man opposite him. "It is a hotel room, not a playground; you wouldn't go bloody pulling your mother's curtains off the fucking windows would you?"

"Hanty would kill me before my parent's even found out," Jim muttered, causing Sandy and Angus to exchange a grin, well aware that this was true. "Besides it was an accident, not a deliberate act of vandalism, I was just..."

"Off your face!" Ric interjected. "Shagging a woman, one who isn't your fiancée?" Riled by the lackadaisical way James was acting Richard fired off potential excuses, watching as his friend's shoulders drooped as his comments hit home.

"What's it to you!" Jim threw back in his face. "I do what I want Stewart and it is none of your fucking business how I run my life. Stop being my fucking babysitter you arrogant git and go get yourself a life, otherwise this band isn't even going to make it to Liverpool; let alone America!" He stood up and rudely pushed past the others, not waiting to find out if there was anything else to be said. A few moments later the sound of his guitar could be heard from the back of the bus.

"Yeah, well, nothing else to be said. We will be there in about ten minutes so get your stuff together. Ric just let his head fall onto the table with a thump, pressing his face into the laminate covering. He closed his eyes and ignored the others, listening to them move away, needing to be alone. God he had nearly come so close to hitting Jim again – couldn't bear to be around him at all, especially when he acted like a large child, refusing to take responsibilities for his actions.

"Ric," Pete's gruff voice made him look up with wariness in his eyes, wondering if he was going to get another chat.

"Aren't you suppose to call me Phantom," he said dully, fed up of the whole band and touring, sick to the back teeth with the created identity. Right now he wanted to crawl back to his Grandparents and hide in bed for the rest of his life – not that they would let him.

"Call you whatever you call yourself," Pete replied mildly. "Makes no difference to me."

"Ric's fine, at least I respond to my own name," Richard said wearily, waiting for the line of questioning to start.

"I found this on your hotel room floor, I thought you might want it," Pete offered him a card that had obviously been screwed into a ball but was now smoothed out and pressed enough to make it crumpled but flat. Ric took it, his lips curling in distaste as he saw it was the wedding invitation of the Blonde Buffon and Isabella.

"Thanks," his voice was sarcastic and tired.

"Not easy keeping a girl when you're on the road is it?" Pete continued calmly. "Takes a very special woman to understand the strange nature of what goes on." He nodded towards the paper. "Guess she didn't. But never mind, you will find the one for you." He turned to walk away, but Ric stopped with a slight gesture of his hand.

"Trouble is Pete," he sighed. "I think I had found the one for me and now she is getting married to another man, and it's my entire fault – well mine and Jim's.

* * *

He accepted Sandy's offer of a run, needed to have someone flog him into action otherwise he would have just collapsed into the nearest bed and let the comforting waves of depression wash over him. Only once before had he been so low and that was at the death of his mother. But this was different because the person he was mourning was still alive, alive; well and he hoped, happy – not that she had seemed that cheerful when he had last seen her.

No, it was pointless letting himself become depressed by reflecting on the situation, she had obviously cut him totally out of her life. She had not replied to any of the e-mails he had sent in the early days, handed over management of the Cluinn account to her (less talented) boss and was now only a week away from happily marrying a man she had once claimed to feel nothing for. And it was his entire stupid fault, for letting his suspicion get the better of him and believing the half-truths that their new PR manager had spun.

He had been highly sensitive to the situation, probably because in a moment of madness he had gone to the jewellers opposite the shop where he had his dissertation bound. His intention had been to buy her a necklace or a bracelet – a pretty token piece of jewellery. But whilst he was in the shop something had overcome him, memories of the past months washed over in waves and he realised that he was happier and more contented then he had ever been and she was the reason why. He had left with a ring box and hope in his heart. The hope that no longer existed.

He paused in the act of putting on his jogging gear and reaching down into his bag pulled the ring out the box – it was a small diamond solitaire, not like the rock that Cheyne had bought her, all the graceful emerald setting that graced Alanya's ring finger. With a shrug he slipped it into the pocket of his shorts and made his way downstairs to meet his friend. Sandy was waiting for him, stretching his legs out on the railings; dressed in identical shorts and t-shirts, both of them with baseball caps pulled down low over their heads. Ric decided to go without a mask or prosthetic, relying on the shadow of the cap and sunglasses to divert attention. The sweat always made the prosthetic slip anyway.

"Ready to go," he asked Ric and barely waiting for a nod took off up the incline at a fast paced jog, leaving his friend trailing behind. Ric thought his lungs were going to burst as he followed up the steep path that led to the amazing bridge spanning the Avon Gorge. At least staring at the Victorian architecture took his mind off the pain his legs and the aching in his lungs. And then he had to put up with the cocky smile Sandy flashed at him as he waited at the top of the hill.

"Bastard," he ground out as his paces took him to the top, but Sandy simply grinned.

"If you exercised more often then it wouldn't be so difficult. Don't know how you've kept going as long as you have!" Ric fell forwards, putting his hands on his knees and breathing deeply as Sandy had shown him. The one thing he did have was good lung capacity and his breathing was back to normal in seconds. "Right ready for more, let's go across the bridge!" Ric nodded and stepped his pace up, determined not to be left behind, until they were halfway across, the river far below them a narrow ribbon in the thin path it wound to open waters. It was a long drop down and anyone that fell would not survive. The view distracted him.

"Wait here a moment Sands," he called to his friend, pushing his face up against the wire that stretched between the pavement and the abyss. He reached into his shorts, took a step back and tossed the ring high up over the fence where it briefly caught the sun before falling in a downward spiral, watching as it disappeared from view before taking a deep breath.

"What was that?" Sandy came and stood next to him peering down through the wire, his eyes narrowed, trying to see what had been thrown.

"Nothing," Ric shrugged, glad to no longer have the reminder of his intention hanging around. "Just an alternative future!" He heaved a sigh. "Let's go on!"

The day possibly improved a little after that, the run less punishing as his legs stretched into the pace, his heart speeding up to the beat and his lungs breathing in time. Maybe it was the endorphins flowing around his body, but returning back from the jog he felt calmer then he had in, well – six weeks or more. He had a quick shower, changed and headed off into town to find the promised book store and a quiet cup of coffee, as well as some space and time to himself. He was confident that with his casual clothes and prosthetic no one would distinguish him from the scores of students and tourists that filled the town.

He browsed the large bookstore and shopping centre, happy to blend in with all the other shoppers and enjoying having money to spend. His 'allowance' gave him more money in one week then he had been used to living on in a month and it felt strange to not penny pinch as had been habit for so long. In fact he had only had such a good standard of living because Izzy had never demanded any rent from him.

He picked up several books desperate for some distraction and new reading material. He read quickly and so much time spent on the road meant he tended to devour the printed word – already there was a large trail of books left behind on their tour. He then grabbed a few magazines for Sandy and a DVD for Angus, knowing they need distraction just as much and besides he enjoyed being able to show such largess with his friends – he had never had the funds before. His hand stilled over a video game, instinct telling him to buy it for Jim, knowing that it was something he wanted. But that was when he considered Jim a friend, someone to depend on and trust – that was no longer the case.

But what Jim had done, the voice in his head counselled, was his usual high jinks – not vindictive or evil just childish and silly. The trouble was the price that had been paid was high. Of course the situation had been created by Ric himself – his arsy attitude as Jim phrased it, his friend's actions were merely the catalyst for everything going stupendously wrong. He shrugged and added the game to the pile of items he was buying.

With a start he realised that he had managed to waste most of the afternoon and needed to get his ass back to the arena for the afternoon sound check – he would not be popular if he was late and held up proceedings. They were all expected to dance to the timetable and whilst the band were not docked wages as the rest of the crew were, punctuality was still highly regarded. He set out with a determined stride, covering the distance quickly the bags of books clenched in both hands, banging against his legs.

The crew had already swung into action by the time he had got there, raising the stage and backdrop – such as it was and setting up the snaking mess of cables and speakers that were needed to project the sound. In the gloomy daylight the venue looked tired and scabby, faded black paint and a sticky floor in need of a sweep stretched back out from the stage at the front. It would be different tonight when it was filled with over a thousand people – all who had come to hear Cluinn's music.

Ric went through the necessary sound checks with the band, making sure the mix of music sounded through the speakers at the right balance, no point in the drums being deafening, or the bass dominating if the words were inaudible. It was almost routine now and in twenty minutes all were satisfied that it was set up and working. They could now kick back and let the setting up finish, the merchandising displayed, the lighting rig finished and the support band to do their checking.

He sat on the front of the stage, legs dangling over the edge; taking in all the bustle of the crew and back stage tech as they scurried around knowing that he soon had to go back stage and get ready for the concert – take Phantom out of the box – another saying of Izzy's. He counselled his mind back to its positive state, there was no point reflecting on her, he needed to move on. Maybe he would let himself have a girl tonight, indulge in the sort of antics that rock stars were suppose to get up to, rather then being the hermit of late. A good shag might just help to push his memories aside.

He jumped down from the stage, his Converse hitting the ground with a thud and grabbed his bags heading off backstage, not wanting to get involved with any discussions or banter from the crew or other band members, he just wanted to focus. The dressing room was empty; their 'costumes' hanging on a rail at the side, the box with all his masks placed carefully next to it. He sat down at the dressing table with a sigh – time to stop being Ric and take on his stage persona. He stripped down to just his jeans, sat on the rickety stool, the leather top worn and slightly ripped from countless other acts that had gone through the room before them. No need to shower, he had one after running and would need one straight after – he always came off stage pouring with sweat. He pulled his hair out of the ponytail - really needed it cut, it was down to his shoulders again and looking really ragged, not that it seemed to matter and slicked it back off his face, reaching up and pulling off the prosthetic, gazing at his reflection in the harshly illuminated mirror.

Somedays he barely noticed his face, the thick scar that ran down his cheek. It was almost more there as an annoyance, especially his eyesight blurring – which made seeing in the dim light on stage quite difficult when he was tired. But today, when everything was so heightened, when he was so aware of all around him, he grimaced at the sight. Raised and hard it dominated his left cheek and no amount of replenishing oil, creams or massage seemed to make the slightest difference. He had considered plastic surgery to try and soften the impact, but until now the price had made it out of the question.

"Beauty and the beast," the voice sneered from the darkness of the doorway. Ric spun around at the sound, his body rigid, wondering who had managed to find him here. Relief let his shoulders sag slightly as Jim moved into the middle of the room, his eyes slightly glazed over, a glass in his hand. He had obviously been drinking in the middle of the day.

"Hey Jimbo," this wasn't the time for a fight, not an hour before doors and a little over two hours until stage time.

"Why women seem to think you are sex on legs I don't know," he continued, walking over and putting the glass down next to Ric. "I mean really you are pig ugly!"

"Thanks for letting me know," Ric replied wearily massaging his temples, shivering slightly at the cool wind that was blowing into the room through the open door and across the naked top of his body. "Could you close the door?" Jim hesitated a moment as if considering the idea before walking over and shutting the plank, pushing the lock across as well to stop entry by anyone else. The noise of the bolt being shot home made Richard look up warily, unsure at the action.

"Why've you locked it?" he attempted to keep his tone of voice light, picking up the glass and taking a cautious sniff, when his noise met nothing more threatening then whisky he took a swig aiming for nonchalance.

"You stealing my whisky again," there was a threat in the words.

"Just trying it," Ric shrugged, trying not to bait Jim who was obviously bruising for a fight. "Islay right?" His guess momentarily wrong footed his friend who stood there, the frown lifting slightly.

"Oh, so something has managed to get through that thick cranium of yours in all these years, and there I had you down as a philistine." The baiting in his words was evident, but Richard counselled himself not to rise. "At least you might have appreciated that bottle of mine you stole for at least a couple of sips before you passed out. Do you have any idea how much that whisky cost me?"

"Not as much as it cost me," Richard muttered under his breath, before looking up – they had been over this already; only then they had been taking swings at each other at the same time. Tonight he was determined to talk in a calmer manner, even if it meant swallowing some of his pride. "I thought you took it from your Dad's collection?" He spoke out loud.

"Beside the point. The thing is that it was there to be sipped and savoured, not to get blind roaring smashed on! It was worth five thousand pounds and you drunk it like it was bloody water!" Ric shrugged.

"I've regretted it ever since if that's any help, all of it. And I am paying the price for my actions. Shit Jim, I will buy you another bottle if it means that much to you." He ran his hands through his hair and whirled back around on his chair, watching his friend and bandmate in the mirror as he prowled around the room.

"Would you?" JIm finally asked, coming and standing behind him , their eyes meeting in the mirror. "You have five thousand to spare then?" Ric shrugged amiably.

"It's worth it if we..." he trailed off, not sure how to say the words that needed to be spoken, how to make amends. He swallowed hard. "If you want it then it is yours – I'll order it online right now if you want." He leant over and picked up his phone, surfing through the website to a place he knew sold expensive whisky. "What was it called?"

"Ric stop it!" The words came out quietly with a harsh edge to them; stopping him in his tracks and making him turn again. Jim stood very close, leaning against the wall in weary disposition. He slid down the painted breeze blocks until he sat on the floor resting his head backwards for support. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I never thought that was what would happen, Angus only told me today." He let out a watery grin. "Haven't you explained to her?"

"She won't let me," Ric answered. "And to be honest the situation would never have occurred if I could have kept my temper and my suspicions and not baited her, so it is my fault first – yours second though!"

"True enough. Although why don't you just send her an e-mail mate, explain and sort things out? It might stop you being like a bear with a sore head."

"I tried, she deleted them without reading – wouldn't answer my calls. You know what Jimbo; please call her Izzy in my presence. There is no use pretending she doesn't exist – she does and she is hopefully happy and it is my problem that I can't deal with it." He sighed. "I just need to move on with my life, forget about her, and embrace the world and all the women in it. Maybe get myself some skirt tonight."

"Shouldn't be a problem, they all want to sleep with the lead singer!" Jim laughed hoarsely. "Although I hold by my comment, you are ugly!"

"Cheers you wanker, with friends like you..." Ric laughed slightly, glad that they had managed to sort it out between them, at least temporarily. He held out a hand and standing up pulled Jim to standing, slapping him on the back. "What do you think about performing 'High' tonight? It was one of the last things Izzy said to me, that we should think about putting it on the second album. What do you think?"

"Cool, totally – I'd say instead of Light of Day. Sure you don't feel like belting that one out at the moment! Time to move on my friend, like you say – there is a whole world waiting for you out there!"

Ric nodded and gave his friend a brief hug. Jim was right, if he couldn't solve the problem that there was no use dwelling, he needed to move on.


	38. Chapter 38

**I am typing so fast I am amazed my keyboard doesn't catch fire! However this will probably be my last offering for a few weeks as I am off on holiday and won't have a chance to post anymore. With a bit of luck I will still have inspiration as I cruise around the seas of Turkey and can write it out long hand. Anyway, enough blabbing - on with the story and Izzy's point of view. She is one messed up piece of work that's for sure - not many of us like her, she doesn't even like herself very much. Hopefully there is redemption - but you will have to wait and see. Pips x**

Chapter 38

I tried very hard not to draw parallels between this year and the last. It wasn't easy, everything had changed and not for the better, so it was almost impossible not to get morose when reflecting on the past. I tried to counsel myself that I was looking at it through impossibly rose tinted lenses, but it all had a perfect tinge to it.

Whilst I had managed to delay myself from rushing headlong into what I knew would have been a disastrous marriage, my perspective of the past was changing everyday and I was not sure it was for the better. As memories are wont to do, my brain stripped out all the undesirable details of the year I had spent with Richard and lingered on the golden moments that we had shared. There weren't that many, our relationship had never been a peaceful calm one.

But I still found myself reminiscing about how we used to curl up on the sofa together, linger over meals and of course the hours we spent in bed either in sleepy repose, making love or simply just lying there, often reading or listening to music. I chose to ignore the way we bickered, the ability he had to wind me up and the explosions of temper that had been aimed in my direction on more then one occasion. My mind wiped out the trails of dirty clothes that he often left lying around, the piles of text books that used to create towers on the dinning room table and the way his friends would lounge all over my house, filling up the small space with their size and noise.

The contrast to my life now could hardly be different. I lived in a grand flat, decorated with a talented flair by a designer and kept clean by the almost invisible hand of Pauli, the cleaning lady. But as a result it had no life to it, no stamp of personality – the contents not reflecting the owner who lolled around its rooms as if he could not care less about where he lived. The pictures matched the décor; the bedlinen was tastefully white; any mess hidden away in cupboards.

Ralph didn't go for messy passion, romance and clutter. He didn't subscribe to any magazines, read no real books and all his music was downloaded straight onto computer, so there weren't reams of CDs filling up shelves. It sometimes felt as if I was living in a hotel. My efforts to home make and cook were often met with derision, he couldn't understand why I would want to come home and 'slave away' when we had a cleaner and could just as easily go out, or order takeout.

It seemed as if week by week everything that formed the basis of who I was became eroded. It seemed as if the very essence that made me up displeased Ralph who harped on about the way I wore my hair, the clothes that I wore, my choice of just about everything – or so it seemed in my highly sensitised and pregnant state.

After living with him for nearly four months I had metamorphosed into the smart London set that he moved in. My hair was trimmed and highlighted every six weeks, my maternity wardrobe bought from the very best suppliers so that it fit and flattered my ever increasing figure. We already had the most expensive and desirable buggy on order and there was an appointment in a few weeks for someone to come in and design the nursery. It all was so alien to the way I had lived my life.

And yet the one thing this man did offer me was security and that was a big draw. I still lay awake at night, shuddering with the thought of being a single mother, trying to cope with raising a child and bringing in an income. My fiancé was casually generous with his money and I no longer had to worry about budgeting and coping from month to month. In addition an extra six hundred pounds landed in my account ever month from R Stewart as payment for renting my old flat from me.

I felt a stab of guilt when I looked at the bank statement and saw the money. As a landlady I fell far short of the mark, knowing that my old abode was not up to the rent I was charging for it – not quite a Rachman landlord, but I still needed to go and sort my property out. I had only been back once, after that dreadful scene with Ric, knowing that he was on tour and taking the opportunity to horde a few more of my treasures and clothes into a suitcase. The fact that it still sat unpacked in a corner of Ralph's house was testimony to how unwilling he was to let me change his life.

It was a cold November Friday, when I knew that Richard was safely 'up North' playing a concert. I persuaded Pauli to come back with me to Kensington so that I could clean and asses the state of my old home, pack up what I no longer had need for and change it into a faceless rental property with no traces of me.

I was ill prepared for the wave of memories that assaulted me as I pushed open the front door, smelt the stuffy air and took in the view. The small entrance hall that opened into my living and dinning room; the compact kitchen and generous sized bedrooms were all welcomingly familiar. It lacked the style and design of the gracious apartment that I now lived in, but made up for it with character – and memories.

It looked as if Richard had left in a rush, for items were abandoned in such a way that it seemed as if the owner had simply popped out for a pint of milk and would be back in five minutes, not on a national tour of the country taking him away for weeks. There was abandoned clothing over the back of the sofa, books (as usual) in stacks everywhere and the duvet on what had been our bed were simply thrown up over the pillows, a hasty excuse for bedmaking. With a sigh, Pauli set to with the cleaning and tidying whilst I packed up some of my most treasured belongings.

It was hardest in my old bedroom. The photo of Richard and I still sat next to the bed, the one that had been taken on the night of the album launch. He had presented it to me the next day and I had placed it in a frame on the bedside cabinet, loving the intensity and passion, the way we stared into each others eyes, the sparks that practically jumped out of the picture. It was far too powerful to look at now and I found myself placing if face down on the pine table.

Instead I concentrated on the cupboard and drawers, tossing out old makeup, sorting clothes for charity and throwing out hoarded papers and cards. I crawled under the bed (not easy when you are twenty weeks pregnant) and rescued partnerless socks, abandoned newspaper and dirty tissues. Even in Richard's room I hung up clothes and return books and files to the bookcases, all whilst my dedicated cleaner hovered, scrubbed and dusted her way around the space.

Six hours later the flat gleamed as it had never done when I had lived there, both of us having worked hard for a good portion of the day. I stood with a hand in the small of my aching back gazing around the rooms. I had carried out bag loads of rubbish and charity donations, piling them up by the front door. We had changed sheets and scrubbed out cupboards, sorted the contents of the kitchen and now, I stood back and surveyed all the work that I had done.

I could be proud of myself; this flat was now worth the money I was charging, probably more. The only downside I had noted was the paucity of tableware, having been in the habit of banging plates and chipping cups, not to mention throwing them at Richard's head. The gash in the doorframe made me blush and advert my eyes as the reminder of my temper. With a mental note to bring in some more crockery and cutlery I hustled Pauli out of my old flat, locking the door behind me. Everything else could wait another day – I needed to lie down now and rest my aching back.

* * *

I didn't have a chance to go back that weekend, Ralph's boredom threshold was so low that he needed constant diversion – the fact that I was halfway through my pregnancy didn't count and I was expected to follow him wherever his fancy took. That weekend we had been invited to a shoot cum house party and despite being large and tired, I was expected to tramp the fields with him, perch on a shooting stick behind his peg in the bighting November wind and watch as he fired at the hapless birds trying to escape. It was not my scene at all, nor was the drunken braying dinner that followed, the main meal being the game bird and copious amounts of wine, with several additional courses and the required port and cheese. It was midnight by the time I excused myself and went upstairs, knowing it would evoke the wrath of my fiancé who didn't like me to retire early – pregnant or not.

I received the predicted lecture all the way home about not participating and fitting in, the need to behave as part of the set I was marrying in to. "If you ever decide to get married," he tossed at me as we hit the motorway. I sighed; this had become a common argument between us. Whilst I was relieved at our delayed nuptials and thought that Ralph was the same, over the intervening weeks he had become more bitter about my decision, no doubt due to comments from his friends about putting the plans on hold.

"Ralph, as I always say I just want to wait until the baby is born," I stroked my stomach, gasping as I felt the small rise of bubbles against my stomach. At twenty weeks the baby had started to move a lot and the feeling of fluttering was become a common one. "Speaking of which, are you coming to the scan tomorrow?"

"Scan?" He shot a look at me, before once again returning his attention to the road. "What for?"

"The scan is to check for foetal abnormalities about twenty weeks," I spoke levelly, not daring to look at him. "I told you several days ago. "It is also when they can often tell the sex of the child – although it's not foolproof."

"You're not that far gone yet are you?" He frowned, his eyebrows drawing together as if he were trying to count. "Are you already five months?"

"Practically, they count from your last period, so I am technically more pregnant then I am," I soothed, grateful that he was so misinformed, neglecting to read the material that I had received from the hospital, the books I had bought or even the websites I had showed him. "Technically I am nearly nineteen weeks, but officially I am twenty." How close to the truth that was – I was all of twenty weeks, would be twenty -one on Monday, two full weeks ahead of my 'official' conception date. With a bit of luck I would go overdue and no one would be any the wiser, it some ways it helped that he was so disinterested.

He simply grunted at my small lecture, choosing not to reply for a moment, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he weaved the Porsche in and out of the Sunday evening traffic. "Don't know if I can make it," he said finally. "What time?"

"About eleven?" I hated the way my voice sounded so glad, so enthusiastic that he was even considering what most men would be desperate to attend. He shook his head.

"Can't, I know I have an appointment!"

"Surely you can have someone else cover it? Julie perhaps – this is important."

"So is my job. I can't just drop everything at a moment's notice Izzy." He spoke tersely, a tic jumping in his cheek, eyes fixed on the dark busy road ahead.

"But I told you, I told you over four weeks ago and then again last week. Please, I need you there; I want you there." Because if he were there, if he showed some joy at the birth of the baby, then just maybe I could find it in my heart to love him – and hopefully stop replacing him with the real father!

"Look, I can't - so stop going on about it. Take Tatty instead – she will love to be there!" The words were snapped out; despite the fact that I thought I had remained remarkably calm in the face of his disinterest. How bloody typical – if he couldn't be there then his sister was a suitable replacement. Not that I minded for I knew that Tatiana would be a more then kind and caring companion, but it was just the way he assumed her presence would do, as if the occasion was no more then a shopping trip or informal lunch – not viewing the child growing in my stomach.

I lay in bed that night, mentally and physically trying to keep as much distance between Ralph and myself as possible. As I became larger, sleeping became more and more of a chore – my nose often felt blocked, I need a small pillow between my knees as it was so uncomfortable to place them together and more then once I had woken in the night with my legs cramping, pain shooting up my tendons. The pain often had me crying out in, although Ralph rarely woke to my moans, sleeping far too heavily for my whimpering to wake him. On more then one occasion he had muttered about separate beds for the rest of the pregnancy, his excuse being that he needed his sleep as he had to work the next day.

I shifted around on the bed in the darkened room, unable to drift off, shaking with fear and loneliness at my situation but far too scared to finish it, to tell Ralph the truth bringing a stop to the lies and deceit which I had wrapped myself in. I knew in my heart of hearts that Richard would never be as callous towards me as Ralph acted – he was too noble, too honest; even if people dismissed him as a rock star. Yet he had already proved that he couldn't be trusted and so once again I was faced with the harsh reality of the truth – I was alone.

* * *

I had taken the morning off work because of the scan, not wanting to have to rush back and forth to the office, finding that too much activity in one day left me feeling exceedingly tired. Instead I managed to get a promise from my future sister-in-law to meet me at the hospital and decided to finish sorting out my flat. It was easy to buy some more cups and a few more plates, a couple of wine glasses and replacement cutlery. It was bagged up and I walked slowly around the corner to my old rooms, pausing to rest as the carriers were heavy.

The street was quiet being a Monday morning, only a large black car idling in an empty space – probably someone going on holiday. I trudged slowly down the road and into the house, up the seemingly never ending two flights of stairs before pausing at my old front door, a hand in my back to try and ease the aching.

It felt good to be doing something positive, sorting the flat out was a real catharsis to old memories. This was no longer my home, but an investment, bricks and mortar that could make me money. This thought up most in my mind I opened the door and walked in, knowing that it would be as I had left it on Friday – clean, sterile and tidy.

"Oh," I spoke the word out loud, stopping in shock at the sight that greeted me. I may have left it scrubbed and gleaming, but it no longer looked the same. A small wheelie suitcase rested in the middle of the living room floor, another bag drunkenly leaning against it, a leather biker jacket thrown carelessly over the back of the sofa. At the sound of my voice a man called from the bedroom, a second before emerging, the voice achingly familiar.

"Gram?" I stood frozen to the spot as he walked out, the carrier bags clutched in my hands. My gaze roamed all over him, drinking in the sight. In tight black jeans and a white t-shirt, socked feet and no mask he was almost Phantom, but not quite – Phantom light.

"Izzy?" His voice was shocked, I suppose if I didn't expect to seem him in the apartment where he lived, then for me to appear in the living room was a real shock.

"You've cut your hair!" My banal comment had him running a hand through his short locks, a slightly alarmed expression on his face. It was short at the sides and back, longer on top – almost preppy looking.

"Yeah, it was getting too long and ragged, thought this looked smarter." Richard hesitated and focused on me fully. "What are you doing here?" There was suspicion in his tone of voice.

"Oh, um, just replacing some crockery and things for the kitchen. I came in and cleaned on Friday and packed everything up so…" I trailed off and hefted the bags up from my feet with a grunt, he was by my side in an instant, taking them from me and carrying them through to the kitchen, where he put them on the worksurface. "Anyway", I replied as we danced around each other in the small space. "I could ask the same thing of you. Aren't you supposed to be in Newcastle or Leeds, or somewhere up north at this very moment?"

"New York actually," he corrected, moving around me to leave the kitchen, pausing in the doorway and turning back. "My flight leaves in about four hours and I need to get a move on. I am only down here because I graduated this weekend and my grandparents flew down for the ceremony. They are in fact waiting in the car as we speak, so I had better get a wiggle on." He turned and left the room without a backward glance, leaving me with shaking knees and sweaty palms.

I hadn't expected him to be there so had not steeled myself against the rush of emotions that erupted on seeing him. I slowly unpacked the crockery, putting them away, along with the last of the washing up that sat on the draining board, wiping down the surfaces as I went. The simple task done I walked back out into the living room, standing there not sure what to do, desperately wanting to see Richard again, not willing to just shout a farewell and shut the door with a bang behind me.

He stalked out the bedroom again, booted and masked, a little more Phantom – obviously getting ready to fly to the States. "Here," he thrust a large white envelope at me as he walked out. "I was going to post this to you, but as you are here." He must have caught the confused look I shot at him for he continued. "It's the contract for this place. I amended a couple of clauses as they seemed a bit draconian and in paragraph three point two the wording was contradicting the meaning, but it is otherwise signed. The standing order has been working hasn't it?" I nodded speechless, taking the proffered envelope.

He grabbed the jacket off the sofa and put it on, the transformation to rock star complete. For my part I simply stood there and gawked at him. Distance had once again transformed him in my mind and even though band merchandise seemed to be plastered around London, I had forgotten what he was like in the flesh – as a living breathing human – one that I used to share my life with – one whose child was growing in my stomach at this very moment. Subconsciously my hand moved and caressed my stomach, hidden under the bag top and jeans I was wearing. Much to my chagrin it wasn't growing into a nice neat bump, but instead was spreading outwards. From most angles I simply looked fat.

"Well Mrs Cheyne," he drawled coming and standing by his bags. "I would like to say it's been a pleasure seeing you…"

"It's not Cheyne," I interrupted him putting my hand on his arm, desperate to make him understand. He looked down at my hand, resting on the leather biker jacket and for a moment I gazed at my bracelet that he still wore on his wrist.

"How frightfully modern of you, keeping your own name," there was the unmistakable note of a sneer in his voice.

"No Ric really, please, we need to – I mean can we …talk?"

"Talk?" There was enough of a shocked note escaping in the word to give me a straw of hope to cling onto. "I have a plane to catch Isabella; I am already a day late getting there so I cannot afford to miss this one!"

"I realise, but maybe when you get back?" My voice was tentative with its suggestion. My fingers curled around his arm in supplication, unwilling to let him go unless he agreed.

"We are performing in London in about a month," he spoke softly. "I'll send you a laminate for one of the shows. We should have an opportunity afterwards. His gaze moved from my hand to my face, lingering on my lips before he looked away sharply. "I need to go and I am sure you have somewhere to be as well." It was an unmistakable invitation to leave and I watched as he gathered the small suitcase and bag, moving them with a practiced hand to the door where he ushered me through.

"What are you doing in New York then?" I asked with forced joviality, desperate to keep him near me, keep him talking.

"Opening for _Never Hear_ at Madison Square Gardens," he said shortly as he turned and double locked the front door. "Everyone else flew out yesterday, but as I had my Grandparents down I am flying out today and performing tonight. I have to be at a soundcheck in about twelve hours." The way he spoke didn't encourage conversation, the sentences short and delivered in a bored monotone.

"Well, um, good luck then," I hesitated not quite sure how to say goodbye, knowing what I wanted to do.

"Thanks," it came out gruffly as he manhandled the bags to carry them down the stairs. I paused, knowing I should offer to help, but aware that given my advancing state of pregnancy, it was not a wise move. Instead I took a chance and with a rushed move raised myself onto my toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, knowing that his hands were full and he could not respond.

Without another words I turned and fled, once leaving him there, his voice echoing in my ears as he shouted my name. "Isabella? Izzy?"


	39. Chapter 39

**I am sorry it has taken so long to upload this offering. I wrote out a whole chapter on holiday, got home and realised I didn't like it, so started again. Keep reading and please review. Pips**

Chapter 39

Five o'clock in the morning was a bitch of a time to wake up – even more when you were alone in a hotel room. In the darkened gloom, thick blackout blinds at the double glazed windows, the only light source was the red numbers of the digital clock on the desk, otherwise there was no light, no sound – it was a bit like being in a cocoon.

Jet lag sucked, Ric thought lying in the huge king sized bed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion but his mind buzzing. Even though he had been awake for over twenty-four hours, not shutting his eyes until after one eastern seaboard time, he slept like the dead for four hours and then woke with this natural bodyclock, tuned to GMT.

Every bone in his body screamed for sleep, his legs physically ached with having played an active fifty minute show as an opener for _Never Hear_, before joining them for a one song jam during their set and then partying with them afterwards. It was a manic few hours, where women, alcohol and drugs were freely offered around. He found himself turning them all down, except for the one bottle of beer he sipped from throughout the evening.

Now he was awake and the longer he lay there, the more his brain buzzed away with questions he could not answer. Questions about the next album and the music he was writing, queries about the tour they were planning and the logistics – all of them skirting around the real issue and the one answer that would let him get some peace. Why the hell did Izzy kiss him?

He had remained frozen for a good couple of seconds after she had pressed her lips to his, enough time for her to flee down the staircase in a painful echo of the way she had fled from the tour bus, leaving him shouting her name to the empty air. If his hands had been free he would have wrapped them around her body, held her close and not let her go, kissed her long and hard and thoroughly. But he wasn't sure that was what she really wanted? Maybe he was only desirable as forbidden fruit, one last kiss as they were alone together? All he knew was that the questions were driving him mad and he needed to talk to someone.

With a groan he surrendered to wakefulness, letting his brain win the battle over his tiredness, rolling over and turning the side light on, so the large room was illuminated with a soft glow. Grabbing his phone he went to text Jim; see if he was awake before pausing. Alanya had joined them in New York and even if they weren't sleeping, Jim would not want to leave her side to spend it with him – heck if the situation was reversed... There was little chance of Sandy being alone, the only one who might be awake and wanting some company was Angus so he texted him a brief message. _Are you awake? R._

Five minutes later there was a knock on the door. Ric clambered out of bed and peered through the spyhole, checking it was not an ardent fan; housekeeping or an errant person who might be surprised by the sight of him in his pyjamas. Instead it was Angus, similarly clad, a bottle clutched in his hand. He opened the door. "I know it's technically breakfast time," was the bass guitarists opening gambit, "but would you like a drink?"

"Sounds like a good idea," Ric gestured for him to come in, kicking his discarded clothes into a heap and gesturing for Angus to take a seat in one of the wing chair so thoughtfully provided by the window. Their accommodation had definitely taken a step up from sleeping in the van or crashing on people's floors as they had used to, but they were still aware enough of a budget to not want to stay in the vastly expensive suites of the top hotels. "What is it?" He sat down opposite his friend, pushing two tumblers his way.

"No idea, some single malt. Apparently it was provided as part of the available alcohol in the bar because they thought we might like it – being Scottish and all!" Ric snorted at the comment – the stereotyping of their likes and dislikes.

"Well the agent did apparently ask if we would be wearing kilts on stage when he booked us." He added with a low laugh. "As if we walk around in them all day or something."

"Och aye," Angus laughed, passing him a glass with the amber liquid in it. "I keep my guitar strings in my sporran; don't know 'bout you! _Slàinte _."

"_Slàinte mhòr_ They clanked their glasses together and sipped at the liquid, settling back with a sigh.

"It's not very rock and roll is it?" Angus remarked after that had sat in silence for a minute or so. "We aren't exactly following the rule book here are we?" Ric glanced down into his glass, swirling the contents around.

"No, but I don't really want to Gus," he gave a weary sigh and rolled his head back against the chair. "How many times were you offered drugs this evening? I think there was everything there – saw some people shooting up in the corner even. That's no way to live and what we do isn't an excuse for it either!"

"What, sex drugs and rock and roll?" The words were accompanied by a laugh. "Won't say no to the sex or the music, but I can't bring myself to do drugs. Slippery slope there isn't it?"

"Aye, one I started to slide down as well, you know after Mam died and ..." Ric shrugged, knowing his friend would understand. He had been on more then familiar terms with cocaine, jellies and poppers – it had been easier then coping with the truth, that his mother had been murdered. Going cold turkey, at his grandparent's behest had been even worse. No, there was no way he was going to go back there – apart from the odd drag on a spliff he was keeping well away. "Well, you know where I grew up, there was a drug dealer living only a few roads away – not like your genteel suburb of Glasgow." Angus snorted, use to the ribbing from his friend about where his family lived, a direct contrast to the Drumchapel council estate. "Besides," the words came out tinged with bitterness, "I am perfectly capable of fucking up my life without the aid of drugs."

C'mon man, you can hardly say you've messed you life up," Angus argued, taking a sip of his whisky, "even if you are drinking hard liquor at five in the morning. Most people would say that a platinum selling artist with two bachelors and a master's degree under their belt is a roaring success."

"More to life then exams and awards Gus," Ric ground out.

"Yeah, like performing – doing what you dream of. Isn't it 'happy the man whose hobby is also his career?' "

"Depends, if you are trying to quote Alexander Pope or not." He enjoyed debating with Angus, intelligent sparky conversation. Despite his former job of driving a delivery van the man was bright and perceptive – sometimes a little too much. "But it was a buzz last night wasn't it?"

"God yeah!" Angus' grin was so wide that it split his face in two and Ric found it infectious so that an answering smile echoed across his features. Playing to an audience of twenty thousand people at Madison Square Gardens (or MSG as he quickly learnt to call it) had been amazing. They had only played a six song opener, but the music was well received and he knew in those minutes that they had gone a long way to establishing success on both sides of the Atlantic. One day, he vowed silently to himself, they would be filling those arenas by themselves, the Garden, Hollywood Bowl, Wembley – headlining those massive spaces – then he might just be satisfied.

"Although it made me realise," he broke the silence, taking a sip of his whisky, savouring the delicate sweet malt as it slid down the back of his throat, "need to add a bit more structure to some of the new songs. How the music sounds in a small room or venue, versus a huge space is quite different, chords need to be longer and more carried out, bass deeper."

"What's the rush with the writing," Angus laughed. "We still have 'Light of Day to release when we get back don't we?"

"Yeah, but Dev and the label are already pushing me about recording dates for next year. He wants a quick follow up to this album looking at releasing something mid- May next year, so it might be tour and record at the same time."

"How the hell are we going to do that? Don't know about you, but I have managed to be omnipresent yet?" Ric raised his eyebrows in sarcastic question – Angus was right, EGA did seem to expect the impossible from him, the trouble was he was far too use to meeting any expectation that was thrown his way and would find a way to achieve it.

"Record out here during the US tour, fly back to NY on our days off and lay down a track or two. Or we could do some in Chicago, or SF, Los Angeles. Digital age, you don't have to be solely in one place anymore."

"True, it just can be unsettling to keep shifting around like that, not have the focus." Angus hefted a sigh. "So are we even going to get a chance to hear any of the new stuff, let alone practice it before we are suppose to be releasing this album."

"I'm still writing a lot of it – although it's kinda' rough. We just need to sit down and have a good jam and see how things grow and change. After Christmas we have a few spare days, go over to Jim's and do it there." He shrugged, trying to ease the prickle of discontent that built as he thought of the pressure.

"That will be like the old days, sitting in a cloud of smoke in the stables, arguing over the music." The bass guitarist laughed. "Actually Jim could fill that room by himself - did you see the size of his reefer this evening he was seriously smoking?"

"Gonna' mess his voice up one day." Ric fell silent. He had seen the large spliff that dangled out of the lead guitarist's mouth at the party, but he was more distracted by the glassy look in his eyes. Jim had definitely been taking chemical enhancements, probably speed to overcome the jet lag, but it still make him worry. Jim McCullough and chemicals were not a good combination. He couldn't afford to loose the lead guitarist and his best friend to that dangerous embrace - they were just far too freely available in the music world. Everywhere they went there was alcohol, women, chemical pleasures, sex. Decades of excess living by various musicians had etched it into people's minds that it was what anyone and everyone wanted. Making music went hand in hand with hard living – and therefore the various 'delights' were pushed onto them.

The women were the worst. They were always there after every show – many of them thinking that the less they wore and the more promiscuous their actions, the more likely they would get noticed by a member of the band. Many seemed to have no personal pride and would happily return sexual favours for their perceived moment of glory with anyone who had been on stage. A lot of them slept their way up to the top; it was almost as if there was a point system amongst the groupies. One mark for a crew member, two if they were part of the inner management circle, three if you actually got to exchange bodily fluid with someone on stage and four if you snared Phantom himself. It had made him very cynical about women over the months of touring. The silence was deafening as they sat their sipping their whisky.

"Actually, one thing I've been meaning to ask Dev and you might be able to answer for me," Angus broke the silence, " is when the hell are we going to be seeing any money – real money that is, not just a few hundred here and there. You have any idea?" Ric looked over at him and smiled.

"You're not feeling broke are you?"

"No, 'cause it's not like we are spending any money whilst we are touring, but I don't like this idea of existing in the present only, want to know if I am making a living here and have a future, otherwise I will have to start doing some website designing on the side – at least that is a regular income." Angus slapped the arm of the chair in his frustration.

"I don't know, Dev is remarkably good at keeping stum on the subject, tends to change the topic of conversation whenever I bring it up. However," he heaved a sigh, "I've done a few calculations of my own, not accurate of course as I can't be sure of every percentage and all the sales, but I think we are owed two to three thousand each or thereabouts."

"Tell me you're joking," was the retort from the other armchair. "All this touring and promotion and we have made two to three thousand each – I could have earned more as a delivery driver!"

"Two to three hundred thousand Gus – each." Richard shook his head at the reaction in front of him. It was almost funny to see the metaphorical dropping of the jaw. "But you're right, it is about building something more solid and tangible, can't stay on tour forever. I need to pay off my student loans and probably invest in some bricks and mortar as well. Don't know if Scotland or London would be better. What about you?"

"London. I can always stay at my parent's if we go back home, although a flat in Edinburgh would be nice. Don't you have anywhere down south at the moment then? Where did you stay the weekend?"

"I, I'm renting Isabella's flat off her – she's moved out." Shit why was it so difficult to get the words out, he was sure Angus would have noticed his slight hesitation. He looked over and saw the raised eyebrows.

"So you haven't seen her recently then if she isn't living there anymore?" There was a wry note in the question that Richard couldn't place.

"Well no, actually yes, but no." More pointless stumbling over the answers. He hefted another sigh wondering why he was about as articulate as a thirteen year old school boy trying to ask out his first date. "I hadn't seen her for ages – not since August, but then yesterday as I was leaving for the airport, there she was in the living room. It was like she was a ghost or something and darn gave me a start as she was the last person I was expecting to be there."

"But it's her flat," Angus pointed out pragmatically.

"Although she is renting it to me, I actually pay her a decent amount for the privilege these days and when I went back there it had all been cleaned and tided, not like her place at all anymore, much more ... impersonal." He puffed air into his cheeks, thinking of the shock he had when he had walked through the door. On the one hand he was glad, it wasn't embarrassing to bring his grandparents back to such a place, it looked clean, efficient and grown-up, but at the same time it no longer contained the essence of Isabella and he had been hoping that there might still be something of her clinging to the fabric of the rooms. She had changed the sheets, tidied out the drawers, even the picture of them that had sat on the side table in the bedroom had been put away.

He had tried to accept the message that was given out – the end, finished; moving away from their messy chaotic relationship. He had resolutely slept on her side of the bed that night, determined to stop pretending she might walk back into his life at any moment. And then minutes before he had to leave, with his grandparents sitting in the car waiting to go to the airport, there she was standing in the living room.

"So she tided up – probably a lot easier without all of us lazing over her furniture," Angus snapped him out of his memories. "How was she looking anyway?"

"Oh, um," more hesitation as he tried to recollect her appearance. It was difficult for he was lost in a moment of shock, not taking in the actual sight of her as much as her presence, the sense that she was around. "Like Izzy really," he finally offered up. "She's put on weight, looks a bit chunkier then she used to, but isn't that what you are suppose to do when you are happily married? Settle down and get fat? And she was very polished, that posh London woman sort of look."

"So happy, fat and polished?" Angus repeated the words with a derisive snort. Yeah, it was a shit analysis, Ric had to agree, but he didn't know what else to think.

Her eyes looked sad. The thought came to him out of nowhere, so clearly that he glanced over at Angus, wondering if he had said something, but his friend was sipping at his whisky, clearly waiting for Richard to continue the conversation. "You do think she is happy don't you Angus?" he finally said levelly, suddenly unsure if his previous summary was correct.

"Why do you think I should know anymore then you?"

Richard shrugged. "I don't know, she often used to talk to you. Don't you still e-mail her?"

"Yeah, but usually comments about the website and its content and I'm on her list of people she sends crappy jokes to – not exactly deep personal stuff. I guess she is contented, haven't any reason to suspect otherwise." Ric gave a small smile at the words; it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. Whilst he didn't want Izzy to be unhappy, he still needed a reason for her actions the other day, an answer and he was damn sure she wouldn't give him one. Heck she had not replied to any e-mails he had sent since that dreadful afternoon.

He took another morose sip of his drink, holding the tumbler between the palms of his hands and gazing through the liquid at the distorted image of the room. Shit, he felt quite pissed, alcohol and jet lag wasn't a good combination. "Gotta' go for a slash," he murmured placing his glass on the table with a thud, some of the liquid slopping out the side of the glass. "Would you order some breakfast Gus, I need to eat or I am going to be drunk before six in the morning." His friend nodded and Richard eased himself up out of the chair, heading off to the swish marble bathroom.

The bright lights around the huge mirror had him blinking with their glare and it took a while for his eyesight to adjust. He had to go and see an optician when he had a moment, he was sure his prescription needed to be altered, the sight in his bad eye seemed worse of late, although the glare of lights on stage, dry ice and smoky air didn't help at all. He leant over the basin, splashed his face with cold water and grabbed a towel, rubbing it dry before pausing. Skin was looking crap too – didn't help having a mask stuck to his face everyday for most of the hours. His cheeks and forehead were red and blotchy; aggravated by the adhesive he used to glue the coverings on. He had to resort back to his old masks that fastened with elastic ties, only using the special masks for going on stage.

They had been on the road now for three months, the summer concerts not counting and still had almost four weeks to go before their final performance in Edinburgh, a few days before Christmas. It was unsurprising that he was feeling the full effects of being on tour – they all were; exhaustion at the antisocial and long hours, many of which were spent shut up in a coach together, their lives lived under the microscope of exposure, the eagle eye of a journalist or fan's camera never that far away. He sighed, no point getting upset about it, the fans are what made the group and the publicity was necessary to keep in touch with the them. No point being a musician if no one heard or liked your music.

He mooched out the bathroom and back to the wing chair, grabbing his glass and curling his legs up on the seat. "I've ordered some nosh," Angus said as he sat down. "Whisky and scrambled eggs good for you?"

"Black pudding?" Ric asked hopefully, grimacing when Angus shook his head.

"We're in America Ric, no chance – but I have asked for pancakes and maple syrup, those are good!"

"Aw, shit, if I eat pancakes I will have to go and workout out in the gym," Richard groaned, his stomach rumbling at the thought, at least a temporary diversion from the noise of the unanswered questions in his head.

"Why?" Angus looked unimpressed at the idea. "You are a skinny stick, why do you need to worry about what you are eating? What is this whole healthy training shit anyway? In ten years the most exercise I've ever seen you do is running out of one pub and into another." Ric laughed, it was true – he had never been one for vast amounts of exercise and as he had trouble keeping weight on - he was never concerned with excess body fat and a changing figure. But Sandy had started him on a training regime, determined to increase his energy and fitness, claiming he needed it to keep up with the backbreaking tour they were undertaking. And somewhere in all the jogging and weight lifting, when his muscles were aching and he thought his lungs would burst he found an inner peace. In those moments the rest of the world didn't matter, Isabella was not on his mind. Those minutes of emotional silence were the addiction that kept him returning to the gym.

"Because it is the difference between me walking offstage at the end of a concert or collapsing with exhaustion and having to be dragged off. Don't you find these huge stages totally killing to play?" Angus pulled a face as he considered the question.

"Not majorly, although I'm not running around like you are. As long as you are happy with your Popeye biceps though, fine by me and I will eat your pancakes if you don't want them."

"Not a chance," Ric shot back with a laugh. "Those are mine!" He settled back in his chair, glass gripped loosely in his hand, his eyes slightly closed with the exhaustion that was weighting them down. Lulled into security by the companionable silence offered by the bass guitarist, he quietly started to hum a tune under his breath, not fully conscious of what he was doing. Once again, as soon as he relaxed, the question starting revolving in his brain – why did Izzy kiss him?

"Why you humming 'Light of Day'?" Angus spoke quietly making Ric start. He hadn't even realised he had been doing it, but not surprising as he was thinking about Izzy. After all it was her song, he wrote it about her. He had woken early one morning, the sun shinning through a gap in the curtains and cutting over the bed. It sliced a beam of light over her sleeping form where she had lain, naked, the duvet roughly pulled up around her hips.

He had propped himself up on the pillows and just watched her, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her lips relaxed, long dark eyelashes closed over her grey blue eyes and her glorious mane of dark hair spread across the pillow and tumbling over her shoulders. At that moment he knew he would love her forever.

"What? Was I?" Stupid to pretend otherwise but he automatically found himself on the defensive, didn't want Angus thinking he was pinning away after Izzy. He knew that his friend did not think he deserved her and he was probably right.

"You were thinking of Isabella weren't you?" There was a note in his voice that Richard couldn't place, angry possibly?

"Yes," he sighed the word, fed up with pretending, tired of having to act as if everyday wasn't a struggle and every groupie was not compared to his ex. Even though he had tried to forget her by taking other women to his bed, despite trying to bonk his memories away it hadn't worked. He didn't want any other woman in his life.

"Why can't you just let her go Ric? Live and let live?"

"I wish I could." His voice was small and quiet as he admitted the words. Pathetic really, here he was; Phantom, hundreds of girls throwing themselves at him almost every night, screaming and crying if he chose to even smile at them, let alone sign an autograph or shake their hand and yet he craved the one person who seemed to want nothing to do with him – except for that kiss. "I cannot forget her, cannot wipe her from my mind. I fucked up Gus and now she wants nothing to do with me, won't return my calls, won't answer my e-mails…And I think I am slowly dying by degrees – I would love to be able to leave it all and walk away, but I can't."

"Do you really think you deserve her after what you did? Why do you expect her to forgive your actions?" Angus' voice was low and hard, a background of steel against the words, furious and condemning. He gulped down the rest of his glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before fixing Richard with a steely gaze. "Fuck it Ric, she caught you with your pants down and we all know that is the unbreakable rule. Even Jim understands it – if you play away from home make damn sure you aren't discovered. Frankly I can't believe you were stupid enough to do so in the first place. You had a total gem of a girlfriend and threw it away to satisfy an itch."

"I didn't," the words came out low and ashamed, filled with the despair and self-hate that swamped his body. He needed to make Gus understand because maybe the truth would get back to Izzy. "I wasn't playing, it's all just a misunderstanding."

"Sure, which is why I found Izzy in floods of tears having run away from the bus saying that she caught you in there accepting a BJ from a groupie, you don't call that playing then? I thought you were intelligent Ric, guess not." The words were damming and cold. Richard didn't react well to such blatant criticism.

"Shut the fuck up until you know the facts!" He rarely spoke to anyone like that, except maybe Jim and felt a moment of contriteness as he saw his friend shrink back into his chair. No, he had no right to say that to anyone, let alone someone he counted as a good mate. A moment's pause. "Sorry mate, I shouldn't have said that." It was wrong to take his anger about the situation out on Angus – if anything viewing another person's opinion was helpful as it could give him an insight into why Izzy reacted as she did.

"Are you going to tell me the facts then?" Angus' voice was gruff, low but no longer held the sneer that marked his earlier words. "Because the way I saw it you were accepting BJ's or more at both T in the Park and V festival. How do you explain those away?"

Richard opened his mouth to explain and then closed it again as a knock sounded, breaking the intensity of the moment. "Shit," he spoke the words passionately, the timing couldn't be worse. He scooped his mask off the dresser where it lay and went and opened the door, standing aside with a degree of bemusement as a laden tray was carried in and placed with a flourish on the small table in front of them. Whatever Angus had ordered, it seemed to be a lot of food – which was good as the whisky had created a pit of fire in his stomach and he could barely control the rolling growl it was trying to make.

With a start he realised the bell boy was waiting, of course he was in the US now, land of tipping and grabbing his wallet he pushed a five dollar bill into the waiting staff's hand. The grateful man responded by pulling a crumpled Cluinn album cover out of his pocket and requesting that 'Meester Phantom' sign it. He obliged, passing it over to Angus so the bass guitarist could also scribble his name across the front.

"Now that is a strange experience," Angus commented as the door was shut and they were once again left in privacy. "You order breakfast and exchange it for an autograph. I felt famous for five minutes." The anger seemed to have drained away in the intervening minutes, replaced with a hunger so that he sat and attacked the scrambled egg and crispy bacon with gusto.

Richard pulled his mask off again and tossed it onto the bed, inhaling the aroma of the breakfast laid in front of him. His bodyclock was even more confused now, waking at five, whisky soon after and now breakfast – he had no idea what time zone he was trying to emulate, but it was very mixed up.

"You were about to talk," Angus offered as he scooped up a forkful of eggs, his attention on Richard and not his food. "Tell me what happened at T first, because I remember you stumbling back to the bus with blood dripping from you shoulder and saying that you had got a bit carried away backstage."

"Yeah," he awkwardly reached over with his left hand to touch the opposite shoulder, feeling the small but deep scar that was the remnants of the occasion, before sighing and turning his attention to his breakfast, trying to think of a way of explaining what happened that would not provoke either Angus' censure or laughter – he wasn't sure which was worse. "Do you remember Jim and Mike had been ribbing me the whole way up? About being too aloof and anal?"

"Not particularly, but it sounds like them." Mike was one of the security guards employed to try and form a barrier between the increasingly het up crowds and the group. He seemed to share the same sense of humour as Jim, the two of them often found in a huddle together and so far no one had escaped being the butt of their jokes.

Richard ate up a mouthful of eggs, casting his whisky aside in favour of some freshly squeezed orange juice. It was bliss to have such a delicious breakfast and he was tempted not to continue the conversation until he had cleared his plate. The slight cough from Angus prevented that – he was waiting for the explanation. "I made it up," he said in a rush. "I told them a groupie had backed me into some scaffolding backstage whilst giving me one. It isn't true, there wasn't anyone, I fell over!" There was an unsympathetic snort from the other chair, which made Richard cast down his knife and fork with a clatter onto the plate and sit back in his chair with a sigh. He expected that to be the reaction.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Angus' voice apology came unbidden. "Look talk to me Ric, I really do want to know," a hesitation. "Please."

"I had taken my contacts out, my eyes were streaming – allergies, smoke, I don't know and I tripped over some cables and fell against the drum riser, guess I was a bit drunk. But it's not very rock n' roll is it? So I thought that if I could kill two birds with one stone – save some face and stop the teasing. After all Jim wouldn't say anything to Izzy because he isn't exactly faithful to Alanya, is he? And you know what, it worked. The horrible fact was that I actually saw admiration in those bastards' eyes when I told them my version of the truth. At last – Phantom is acting as he should! Never thought it would come round and bite me in the bum."

"Yeah well, hindsight is twenty-twenty." Angus murmured.

"Haven't had that for years," Ric shot back, rubbing his eyes as if the memories alone were blurring his eyesight.

"I am afraid to say that I believed that story Ric, had no reason not to," Angus spoke quietly and levelly. "And I am the one that told Izzy that you received that scar whilst being 'entertained' backstage. But at the end of the day she did catch you at V, so however innocent you are of any other shenanigans, that one did happen and you can't explain it away."

"Do you know the sordid details, did she tell you? Has it entered the annals of band history then?"

"I know she caught you on the bus, receiving a BJ off a groupie. She was very upset."

"Especially as barely forty-eight hours early I had accused her of being unfaithful and stressed that I expected monogamy in relationships. Shit," he banged the end of his knife down on the table in frustration, causing the coffee in the cups to spill into the saucers and leaving a slight dent in the wooden table top. "A veritable comedy of errors isn't it?"

"Not sure where the comic bit is," Angus said mildly. "But it does seem to be a bit of a misunderstanding."

"Huge, because when she caught me at V, it was against my will."

"What receiving some attention off a girl?"

"Being tied up and forced against my will." Angus gave him an oblique glance and Richard realised he would have to swallow what little pride he had left.

"Didn't know you were that way inclined," was the comment with a wayward grin. "Obviously Izzy didn't either."

"Don't be facetious," Ric scowled. "It's a bit hard to tie yourself up you know – Jim did it and Mike supplied the entertainment, tried and tested he proudly told me!"

"What? Why?"

"Because I stole his bottle of whisky!" The bitterness spilled over in his voice. God it sounded so pathetic when he explained it. All this heartache over a stupid bottle of drink – however expensive it might have been. "Obviously Izzy wasn't exactly my number one fan at the time, we had just argued and I drowned my sorrows on Jim's five thousand pound single malt. That was his idea of revenge."

"So he tied you up and set a groupie on you as revenge?" Richard nodded his mouth a wry twist in his face. "Shit what an immature bastard," the words came out quietly, but he was glad that Angus muttered them because at least it confirmed his gut feeling.

"In his defence, I suppose he didn't know Izzy was coming up – I didn't – she actually said that she was coming up on Sunday to Chelmsford and then she turned up the Saturday afternoon."

"I think she wanted to talk to you."

"And instead caught me on the bus – bugger – it's not surprising that she ran is it?" He cast his cutlery down, his appetite suddenly disappearing as the thought of what had happened curdled the food in his stomach. There was little hope of trying to explain because either way he was a lying bastard or a cheating one. And what was more Isabella had cast her vote and it wasn't with him.

"You just need to tell her mate," Angus said softly. "It makes sense – she knows what Jim is like and she knows you very well, knows you and loves you."

"Loved me," Richard corrected bitterly. "I think she did at least."

"Trust me, she did – does even. And she needs," he paused. "She really needs to talk to you."

"But she is married."

"A bit more of a problem." Angus sighed obviously considering the situation and Richard sat watching him quietly, realising that he had won an ally by being truthful about what had occurred. "But maybe you can engineer another meeting with her, possibly when you aren't in such a rush and then you can at least explain. Become friends again if nothing else."

"I've said her I will send her a laminate to our show in London," Ric commented, draining his glass and reaching for the coffee pot. His head was buzzing with the beginning of a whisky induced hangover. It was going to be a long day. Angus started to laugh.

"You Neanderthal! You claim to love this woman and you _send her a laminate to our concert?_" There was no mistaking the disdain in his voice. "She is not some groupie who thinks that is the best treat in the world – heck she could get hold of one herself without too much difficulty, she still works for our PR Company after all! Ric, if you want to woo her off her feet you send her flowers, write her songs, bombard her with e-mails, make her feel special; not expect her to fall at your feet when you toss her a favour." He continued chuckling as if it were a huge joke. "Look, I can't say I am an expert in women, but I at least have more nous then you do on this matter – I am surprised she stayed with you as long as she did if you behaved like that! This much I have learnt over the years – courtesy of my sisters I might add. Women like to feel special, as if they are the only person for you. Put her first and she will fall – simple."

"Thanks for the lonely heart advice mate," he sighed. "If only it were that easy."

"Well, you never know. If you at least manage to talk to her then things might get in the open and be explained. Lots to explain." The last words were mumbled into his glass as he grained the dregs before holding it up. "Shit, finished. Anymore in the bottle?" Richard reached over and held it upside down over the empty glass. A few drops slid out.

"Nope, although in our defence it wasn't full when you bought it in. God, I am starting to feel like absolute death. When do we have to be up?"

"Didn't Pete say we are leaving at ten to go look at some studios, meet that producer chap?" Angus' voice was noticeably slurred. "Listen mate, I might go and try and get another hour or so of shuteye – think I might be able to now. You should try the same."

"Yeah," he stood up from the chair, the room tipping slightly on its axis. "Probably not a bad idea." He slapped Angus on the back, guiding him over to the door, glad of the company and advice he had given in the small hours, even if he would suffer with a hangover. "See you later mate!" He shut the planks and moved over to the bed lying down across it, hoping against hope that he might be able to sleep for another hour. But the food and whisky had simply made him feel worse, the aroma of bacon and coffee mingling in the air.

He may be tired, but he still could not blank out his mind enough to sleep. Rolling over he grabbed the notepad next to his bed and propping himself up on his pillows starting writing music, his muse as it had been for all the most recent songs, dancing in his head.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

It was winter again – my worst season of this year. Too dark and cold, wet and inhospitable with short days and long nights, freezing pavements and boiling offices. I hated winter with a true dislike reserved for little else, my mood dropping the day the clocks went back and the last few hours of daylight were snatched from us. It was made even worse by the fact that the winter of that year was shaping up to one of my top five worst ever.

Living with a man I didn't love, didn't even like anymore was difficult enough, but did not raise my situation above any average level of despair. Being pregnant and telling the self same man I was growing to be contemptuous of, that it was his baby made it pretty crap. Lusting after the biological father of the baby but unable to find the courage or lose my pride to tell him the truth made it gut wrenchingly, heart-stopping awful. And with so many hours of darkness to tumble the situation over in my head again and again, it grew to be even worse as November darkened into December.

I was stuck in a pit of my own making and this one had steep sides that I couldn't easily climb out of. Time and time again throughout my adult life, I had punished myself - I seemed to have my finger on my own personal self-destruct button, but this time I had pushed it in and held on fast – really not sure how I would rise from the depths I had plunged to.

In five months I had changed my life from riding high and happy to being as miserable and down as it was possible to be. I felt as if I were simply going through the motions, trying to exist and stay healthy simply to carry the baby that was growing inside me and no more. That was my focus – one that was getting bigger everyday. There was no denying it anymore, I was twenty-six weeks pregnant, complete with bulge and maternity wardrobe.

Four months until the birth of my child and I knew that I could not continue on my present course. The anger and fear that had driven me on this path had dwindled so that my fury was a rather pathetic whimper and I was much more scared of staying with Ralph then being by myself. The only trouble was how exactly I could extract myself.

I felt so helpless – weighed down not only by the bonds I had tied myself in, but the weight of my pregnancy. I was getting large, cumbersome and wasn't used to it. Whilst I had never been the skinny bean pole that I wished, conversely I had never lumbered around, unable to catch my breath or had to sit down at every available seat. I had new sympathy for all those people who you saw huffing and puffing around town.

Thankfully the one light in the depressing, bland greyness of my life was Tatiana. The irony that she was partly the cause of all this angst and misery was not lost on me, although I was aware that it had not been done with a vindictive bent. Instead she encouraged and supported me through the first six months of my pregnancy and it had been hurting her feelings more then her brother's that had caused me hesitation in admitting the truth.

She had come with me at my twenty week appointment, holding my hand once again as the baby was scanned. This time the results were astounding, the wriggling tadpole had changed into a baby, I could see its head, spinal cord, the finger and feet, nose and mouth. I was assured that everything was growing normally and except for the fact that the baby was at the larger end of the growth scale, everything was on line for a routine and regular pregnancy. I was also assured that the child I was carrying was a girl.

My heart had stopped at the news – huge joy at the thought that I was carrying a little girl, my little girl – Ric's little girl. The thought was enough for the tears to start rolling down my cheeks again – luckily Tatty mistook them for tears of joy.

Six weeks later and I was at even more of a cross roads. The journey into work was horrific, trying to squeeze my heavily pregnant body onto over crowded public transport meant that I arrived feeling hot, sweaty and tired before the day had even started. I staggered into the office, feeling as if I had done fifty rounds in a boxing ring – not simply commuted a distance of only a few miles. Tatty glanced me up and down before focusing on my face. "What's the matter?"

"Commuters, they are such a self-scented breed. I was standing there on the most crowded bus ever and did anyone offer up a seat? Did they hell!"

"Why do you catch the bus?" She looked at me in genuine surprise, her forehead drawn in a puzzle of confusion.

"Well how else am I supposed to get into work - fly?" My sense of humour was sorely lacking and made me reply with sarcasm.

"Catch a taxi like I do? Actually why don't we share one into work, a bit greener I suppose? Tomorrow I will get them to drive past your flat, about eightish, okay?"

"Well, yes I suppose..." She didn't let me finish.

"Great that's settled, pick you up at eight tomorrow. Now, there is so much to do today – Brits are heating up and Cluinn needs a bit of work, their tour is in London in a week and a half." She shook her head, her dark curly hair that she recently had cut into the latest style (at a top salon) tumbling about her head in gypsy style curls. Next to her I simply felt an oversized blimp.

"What's there to do on the Cluinn account?" My voice was wary. Whilst I had tried to hand over most of my responsibility, things still kept coming back to me. At the end of the day I could not deny the fact that I once had inside knowledge of the band, understood what made them tick – their likes and dislikes. I had also set up the website, knew the way it had been built and possible ways to expand and change it.

"Izzy, I know you are living with my brother who is one of the largest cultural philistines around, but what rock have you been hiding under? Didn't you listen to the charts last night?" I shook my head mutely. Ralph and I had been arguing about that time and he had stormed out the house – again. It was almost becoming routine. "Light of Day has entered the charts at number one!"

My gasp of astonishment was genuine, my heart racing as I heard the news whilst at the same time I was filled with despair. That was my song, written about me by Richard – the thought that hundreds of others would be hearing it, downloading it, singing to it. A few tears leaked out and I backhanded them out of the way. One advantage of being pregnant is that no one took much notice when I cried and I could just blame it on the hormones racing around my body.

"Yeah, Radio one called it fantastic and heart-wrenching and Joanie Saunders over at Z sounds called it the most beautiful love song ever! How about those quotes for sticking in a press release? The band have a Live Lounge session next Tuesday and I've booked a slot for them on GMTV as I think the song will appeal to a wider audience then before. I mean think; little over three weeks until Christmas, it could end up being Christmas number one!"

My heart flipped at the thought – the boys getting a Christmas number one single with the first release from their album, versus the whole of Great Britain hearing and knowing my song. "The popstar single is out tomorrow though," I warned Tatiana, before she got carried away. "That might change a lot of things!" She pulled a face of disgust that made me laugh for we both felt the same way. "Anyway, what do you need me to do?"

It was still at number one a week later when the band arrived back in London for their concert. I was a bundle of nerves knowing that I would have a chance to see Richard again, talk to him and explain things. With a bit of luck this would be the opportunity to sort things out, to sweep the past few months away and start afresh. Hopefully he would not hold my actions against me; after all I was prepared to forgive him for his actions. We were both to blame.

I sat at my desk pretending to work, when in fact I was surfing the Cluinn website, listening to their music and daydreaming. Nobody realised my lack of productivity for the vacant look in my eyes aside, it was not vastly different to my usual job – although I was usually making notes on what I was doing, not alternately smiling and crying as I browsed the galleries and message boards.

"Izzy?" My bubble was burst and I looked up in shock, my imaginings carrying me far away. My account junior was standing next to my desk, a huge bunch of flowers in her hands, her arms holding them out to me. I took them from her with thanks and put them on my desk, starring at them in confusion. No one sent me flowers – it was far too romantic a gesture for Ralph who had once again left for work in a mood, cross that I would not go out with him that evening and I couldn't think of any clients who might treat me such. I had made no major achievements or breakthroughs on any accounts.

I stood up and tore open the small envelope that was stuck to the paper, admiring the beautiful pink roses – some of my favourite flowers. As I read the words I gasped for air like a fish out of water, black spots appearing in front of my eyes. _Izzy, looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night. Ric xox. _Enclosed in the envelope was an all areas laminate which I pulled out and clutched in my hand, my heart beating out a speedy tattoo – faster then any of Sandy's drumming.

The black spots grew heavier in front of my eyes and I sat down feeling dizzy as I rested my head against the desk, trying to regain my equilibrium. It was a huge shock and totally unexpected. Whilst Richard had said that he would send me a pass, I had assumed it would be posted to me at work by someone from EGA, not personally delivered. And the flowers, pink roses that use to be the pattern on my duvet cover at the flat, that I always bought for myself as a treat. I never realised he had clocked them or even cared enough to remember such a minor detail. In the note he said he wanted to see me and whilst he had not put written love, he had put hugs and kisses.

I suddenly paused in my silent eulogy. I was being such a woman, reading far too much into the situation. He had been quite cold in his manner when we had bumped into each other in the flat, formal, polite but not showing the slightest sign that he was moved by my presence. No doubt the flowers were chosen by the florist and the note was written in a hurry, but it was his handwriting, I would recognise it anywhere. I hugged the badge to my chest with both hands, closing my eyes at the thought that in a little more then twenty-four hours I would see him. And then suppressing my excitement as much as I could, I tried to get back to work.

It was hard to concentrate after that, my mind would not release itself from the tangle of memories and thoughts and I ended up with a splitting headache. The prickles of black continued to flash in front of my eyes, my whole view tinged with pinpricks of sparkly light. It made me feel quite dizzy and slightly nauseous.

"Are you okay?" The voice of a colleague asked and I looked up at her, squinting slightly as disco lights flashed in front of my eyes. I recognised her as Anne, the office manager. She was older then the rest of us, a mother of two whose calm and dependable ways kept the disparate groups of people working in relative harmony. "Izzy?" My face must have looked funny because I could hear the alarm in her voice.

"Um, I've felt better," I muttered, "just have a headache and feeling…weird." I hated drawing attention to my pregnancy, not wanting anyone to have to make concessions to my state.

"Flashing lights? Are you seeing flashing lights?" I nodded weakly, not well enough to comment. "Right, you need to see the midwife pronto," her voice broke into the cocoon I had wrapped myself into. "You don't look good Izzy and your blood pressure might be going up – I know, I had the same thing with my first child."

I let her manhandle me into a taxi in her bossy but kindly way and only two hours later found myself admitted to hospital for twenty-four hours of bed rest and observation. My blood pressure had suddenly shot up and the midwives were suddenly all muttering about preeclampsia and associated problems. I lay in bed in the private room fed up to the back teeth, trying not to cry as it made my headache worse and vowing that I would be out within twenty-four hours. How typical, how bloody typical of my life!

Tatiana came to visit me straight after work, bringing me my own pyjamas and personal items, so that I no longer had to wear the backless hospital gown. She gathered me into her arms as I cried on her shoulder, fat wet tears soaking the expensive cashmere sweater she was wearing.

"You will be out tomorrow, sure of it," she said, stroking my hair with a gentle hand. "This is just a blip, probably a bit stressed out that's all"

"But I am suppose to be at the c-c-c-concert tomorrow," I ground out between sobs. "I got a b-b-backstage pass and everything." If it was possible the tears flowed even harder as I reflected on what I might miss.

"Backstage at what? The Cluinn concert?" I sniffed and nodded, pulling out of her embrace and looking at her face through tear swollen eyes. "Oh," her expression dropped out of it sympathetic set. "I didn't know."

"I just wanted to see everyone again – I haven't caught up since they started their tour and well, well I've missed them." I could see Tatty was torn between compassion and a plan that she was formulating.

"I thought you were getting too close, isn't that why you were trying to hand over the account? You said it was all getting too much? What's changed your mind?"

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" I quipped weakly, sniffing loudly again before blowing my nose.

"Well, I can go for you, explain to the guys that you wound up in hospital and couldn't make it, but were totally gutted. I'm sure they will understand, obviously only if you are still in tomorrow. How about that?" I nodded weakly – it was a vague plan, not that I planned to be in hospital. I was sure if I lay still for twenty-four hours, didn't move then possible, just possibly my blood pressure would drop and I would be a free agent once again.

The trouble was it didn't drop. Twenty-four hours later it was as high as it had been and I reluctantly handed my laminate over to Tatiana. "Please tell ...Phantom that I am in hospital, but don't tell him I am pregnant Tatty – whatever you do, please don't let that slip." I was walking on the knife edge of the truth – sure that Tatiana would guess my guilty secret, but at the same time I knew she wasn't subtle and I did not want there to be any chance of Richard finding out through her big mouth. At the same time I also did not want him to think that I was standing him up!

"Yeah, okay. Why not?" She asked the one question I didn't want to answer. I shrugged. "I don't want him to worry – you forget he and I, well we flat shared and he is an awful worrier." She laughed.

"Yeah right, heavy rocker and an awful worrier – the two images don't exactly combine," she sighed. "Okay. Am I allowed to tell him what hospital you are in – it doesn't exactly take Einstein to guess what is going on when you step into this ward?"

"Suppose so." He could come and see me later; I just didn't want him to hear the news from unsubtle lips. We exchanged hugs and I watched her leave, knowing that fate was set against me.


	41. Chapter 41

**Word of warning, this is quite a long chapter, so don't start reading if you are in a hurry to go somewhere. Sorry, just got carried away enjoying fleshing out Richard's character a bit, showing a different side to him and how he reacts, so it is possibly a bit waffley. Anyway hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Pips**

Chapter 41

The screams echoed around the arena, ricocheting off the walls, bouncing off the audience who filled the space, building in length and intensity as the dying chords of the tune reverberated across the seething mass of people all jumping and headbanging to the music; their bodies dyed red by the waves of light that flowed across them from the stage.

"Goodnight Londoooooon," Phantom yelled into the microphone, holding his guitar up above his head before smashing it down and strumming the last notes, letting the cheering build above the sound from the speakers. He handed his instrument to the stage tech, grabbed Jim and Angus' hands and took a huge bow, whilst Sandy threw his drumsticks into the audience. The cheering reached fever peak before they trudged off the stage. It was standard practice now, they had honed their performance over the past few months and the concert that had given tonight to the packed hall of over four thousand people had been their best yet.

Of course it helped that the adrenalin was flowing through him in a hyperactive wave. He had been on edge since yesterday, buoyed up by the thought of seeing Izzy after the show. It had carried him through the live radio appearance they had made that morning, the long sound check and the boring hours until the start of the show. He had practically sprinted around the whole of Kensington Gardens on his run that morning and now with only minutes to go, he was like a child waiting to open Christmas presents – almost beside himself with excitement.

He accepted the towel handed to him by one of the many tech crew, wiped the sweat off the visible half of his face, draped it around his neck and surrounded by security walked back through the breeze block maze of corridors to their changing room. He was dripping with sweat – the fabric of his third t-shirt that night hung wringing wet from his shoulders and he couldn't wait to shower, change and go and find Izzy.

Apart from the usual exchange of jubilation with the rest of the band, Ric didn't pause to catch his breath, but dived into the shower, amidst complaints from the rest of them for jumping the queue and changed into a rival's band t-shirt – it was great to see people's reaction when they noticed what he was wearing. Ready before everyone else he sat on the edge of the sofa, his hand tapping out a rhythm against his leg, waiting for them so that he could go to the backstage bar where the party would be in full swing.

"What's the rush?" Jim mumbled, his head covered in a towel, missing the look the lead singer shot at Angus who returned it with a slight smile – yeah he knew, Ric had been quizzing him too closely on flowers the other day. God he hoped Izzy liked the roses – he had thought about those long and hard, trying to remember if he had ever seen her receive flowers. All he could think of was the duvet cover in the bedroom instead – one thing she had left when she had tided up the flat – that had big pink roses on it!

Finally after what seemed like an eternity they trailed off to the bar, or rather as things had now become, Mike stormed in front clearing a path, the band followed and Paul bought up the rear, effectively closing them in a security sandwich. Some of the fans had become a little too persistent.

There was cheering and clapping as they entered the smelly green room, heaving with anyone who had managed to blag a backstage pass. The list seemed to get longer with every concert, but here in London it was with some serious movers and shakers. There were A-list people in attendance actually wanting to come and watch their show – for once Ric was glad, this would show Izzy that he had been busy for the past few months.

His eyes scanned the room, hoping to pick her out of the hordes of people, his eyes narrowing in the skull domino he had chosen to wear, aware that it freaked Izzy out a bit, but then he didn't plan on wearing it as soon as they could be alone . Where the fuck was she? He had expected her to be at the doorway at the very least.

Another sweep of the crowd in front of them that was parting like the Red Sea and his eyes rested briefly on a girl, dark hair falling past her shoulders in big bouncy curls. It could maybe be Izzy, possibly. He walked over, but she must have sensed him approaching and turned to face him, her features a cross of panic, alarm and desire. Typical fan then – not Izzy, but familiar. Ah yes, Ric thought with a flash of recognition, it was Izzy's boss.

"Hey," he greeted her gruffly, realising that as she did their PR and more importantly knew Izzy, he shouldn't blank her, not a good idea.

"Phantom," her voice was breathless and the smile that splashed across her face as she looked at him trembled slightly. He cracked a tight smile; it wouldn't do well to come across as too brooding.

"You seen Isabella?" He tried to keep his voice flat and slightly disinterested, not wanting to sound too desperate.

"Um, yeah," she paused and flashed him a brief smile changing her face into a charming set. "Can we just go somewhere we can hear each other?" He nodded towards the door with his head and not bothering to see if she was following turned and walked out. She would chase after him, he could tell her type – she would slavishly do whatever he asked. He walked a few paces down the corridor and leant against the wall with one shoulder, waiting for her to extract herself from the throng of people.

"What?" he said brusquely as she came and stood in front of him, his mood rapidly deteriorating as Isabella hadn't put in an appearance.

"She asked me to give you a message as she couldn't come tonight," Tatiana said, her dark brown eyes drinking him in, meeting his stare, her confidence growing as she stood opposite him.

"Where is she?"

"Um, look, she is in hospital and..."

"Hospital! Why the fuck is she in...? Which hospital?" He ricocheted off the wall, standing up straight as he fired the questions out, unable to keep the note of panic from his voice. Shit, he didn't care if this woman in front guessed the relationship between Izzy and himself had ever been more then they had publicly claimed – she was still ill, after all these months.

"The Portland, she, um her blood pressure is all over the place – they've kept her in for observation; just forty-eight hours but she couldn't get out. I mean she is totally gutted! She sends her apologies." He stared at her, digesting the information, unsure what to say or do – his brain refusing to compute the information, shut down with panic.

"What's wrong with her?" he demanded in a low voice, his eyes boring into hers.

"She's asked me not to say, you can go and see her tomorrow, she is in for at least another day. Um, look I'm sorry. If it's any conciliation she was in tears earlier today, she really wanted to come. I am going to see her tomorrow morning; do you want me to say you will swing by?"

"No," he bit the word out at the same time as he shook his head. "I don't want her to…; I have no idea when I will get the time. Right Portland Hospital you say. Thanks for letting me know...Um..." He paused, what on earth was her name? He couldn't remember.

"Tatiana," she filled in helpfully. "Tatiana Cheyne." The name hit him like a wet towel in the back of the head. Cheyne, this was Ralph's sister and he guessed Izzy's sister-in-law.

"Thanks Tatiana," he said flashing her a brief smile, the usual one he gave to all the fans, his mind spinning. Izzy wasn't here; in fact she was in hospital – what the hell was going on? Part of him wanted to leave now and go and see her, but it wasn't that far off midnight – he doubted the hospital would let him in.

He turned to go back into the crowded bar, stopping in the doorway and observing the press of people in the room. Sandy had honed in on the prettiest girl in the room, or at least the one with the shortest skirt, Angus was chatting away to a group of people along with Jim; whose arm was draped around Alanya. They all seemed happy and preoccupied and he knew he had two options – join in, get a little bit drunk and seem to be the happy involved band member for a couple of hours or go back to the flat and brood, pace and worry. He wanted to do the second; he knew he had to do the first and interact, be seen to be sociable.

The hours dragged inevitably, the smile on his face became hard and fixed until he couldn't be bothered anymore. Sandy and Alanya disappeared in a cloud of smoke; their focus only on each other. He couldn't understand their relationship, he thought with a shake of his head. When they were together their eyes were only for each other, a connection so deep and intense it seemed unbreakable and yet he knew neither of them was monogamous with the other. Maybe that is why it worked; they didn't stand on the moral high ground.

He unwrapped the arm that was slung around his neck, the drunk model (or was she an actress?) stumbling slightly as he no longer took her weight. A smile and a brief kiss to her cheek and she would be happy for days to come. There was no way he wanted company tonight. With one last glance at the detritus of the party in the room he slid out the door, snapping at security to get him a car and get the hell home.

* * *

His official stay in London was less then seventy-two hours. It was how he seen all the towns and cities of the UK on this tour. In and out as quickly as possible. One concert, maybe two backed with public appearances, radio slots and magazine interviews before being hoarded back on the bus and onto the next appearance. It was no wonder that he was feeling bone weary.

Yet he still slipped on his shorts and running shoes the next morning, choosing to do a circuit of Holland Park, feeling too hungover to go much further. Besides the peaceful gardens and walkways were a balm to his agitated mood, not so many dog walkers and other joggers to dodge here. He was jumpy with worry and fear that there was something seriously wrong with Izzy. After all she hadn't been well during the summer and now she was back in hospital.

A little knowledge was indeed a dangerous thing and his mind kept revolving in circles over the possibility of cancer, rare digestive diseases, exotic viruses that could kill grown men. He had no idea why she had been admitted. The way their relationship had ended meant he had never found out the reason for her malaise over the summer, instead like so much of their liaison it had been swept away by the tidal wave of touring.

Two hours later and he walked into the main lobby of the hospital. This was no overcrowded and frantic NHS building, instead it screamed money from the subtle decor to the soft music and carpeting and attempts had been made to de-institutionalise the atmosphere. His hands were sweaty and he transferred the carrier bag he was holding from one palm to the other. He had wondered what to bring Izzy, what could cheer her up whilst incarcerated. Flowers were clichéd and besides, he had already sent her a big bunch, two in three days might seem like overkill. Instead he had thought back to the time he had spent trapped in a hospital bed and the boredom of lying down all day. With this thought uppermost in his mind he had ducked into the local bookstore and chosen a couple of light hearted novels before sidling into HMV, avoiding looking at any Cluinn merchandise and picked up a DVD for her to watch, silly and romantic. That should be a nice gift, pleasant and useful but not reading anything into it.

"Hi," he approached the receptionist who looked up with a helpful smile on her face. "Um, I'm here to see Isabella..." he paused. Cheyne or Saunders? What was she calling herself these days? He remembered her comment from last time he saw her. "Isabella Saunders?" She tapped her computer and smiled again, calming and professional obviously use to dealing with agitated visitors, which he currently was; shuffling from foot to foot.

"Yes she is in room three-one-six; would you like me to call through to the ward matron?" He nodded and waited as she called. "Ah," the phone went down and her face dropped slightly. "Sister has just told me that she has just gone down for a scan, which would last about three-quarters of an hour. Would you like to wait, or come back later?" Richard felt his heart sink. A car was picking him up in an hour. He had to be at EAG offices in an hour and a half, present as the Phantom to give an interview. Q magazines had just named them as group of the year and there was an interview and photo shoot to go with the article. After that it was back to Brixton for a sound check and then the second concert before an overnight drive up North to Newcastle for their next gig. The whole day gone – he wouldn't have another chance.

"No, listen do you just have some paper and a pen I could borrow – need to write a note and leave this present with you? Is that okay?" The receptionist acquiesced and he shot her his most charming smile, practiced on a million fans and groupies, watching as she immediately simpered slightly.

He sat on a chair and scribbled her name before pausing. What the hell was he going to write? It would have been an awkward enough conversation if he had managed to see her, this was just plain odd. He knew she was upset at not being there last night, Tatiana had said as much, but did that mean he was forgiven? Could he just sweep it all under the carpet and act as if it never happened? And at the end of the day he couldn't forget she was still another man's wife – it wouldn't do to be too informal.

_Dear Izzy_, he finally wrote.

_I came to see you, but was told you were busy having a scan. I am sorry you couldn't come last night – was hoping to talk and catch up, but guess Murphy's law is against us at the moment. If there is any chance you can get up to Edinburgh for the 21__st__, let me know and I will get you a pass for our last concert there – still on the same number and e-mail address. Hope you feel better soon and we can meet up. All the best. Ric xox_

He reviewed the words several times, thinking he had managed to get the right balance between friendship and concern. If Cheyne read the note he wouldn't think there was anything amiss. With a smile he scrawled Izzy's name and her room number on it and handed it back to the receptionist. "Thanks," he said with a smile and rolling his shoulders to try and ease the weight of disappointment that sat on them, walked out of the doors.

* * *

It was impossible after that. The wave that had carried him over the past few weeks had crashed and disappeared and he was left floundering, realising exactly how exhausted and fed up he was. His focus had been meeting Izzy, having her back in his life and it hadn't happened – almost as if Christmas was cancelled.

With two shows to go – the last and final ones in Edinburgh, the most important of them all potentially as they were in his adopted city, the one place he considered home, his body had decided it had enough. The scratchy hint that had dogged his throat had grown so that it was a swollen throbbing mass, an ache as he swallowed over the lump.

He somehow managed to sing his way through the first gig, and if the vocals were a little rougher then normal, the encores shorter and he did not carry the notes as long as he normally did then nobody seemed to notice. The cheering carried them offstage, the screaming and yelling lasting a good ten minutes. They ran back on desperate to give the audience something to remember but he almost fell over when he opened his mouth to sing. Instead he deliberately turned to Jim, nodding for him to play and sing – he would just follow.

He woke up the next day feeling even worse, barely able to swallow for the pain that shot through his mouth. He was shaking with cold and yet boiling hot at the same time; his head weighed down and his limbs aching. The doctor was duly called, influenza diagnosed and he was told to stay in bed and take pain killers. The rest of the band gathered around him in his room at the hotel staring down at him with barely disguised anger, pretending it was pity. "We're gonna' have to cancel," Jim said wearily. "Final bloody concert and we will have to call it off. Shit – my family were coming!"

"Humph," Ric grunted from the bed, tossing slightly. He was feeling too ill to particularly care, especially that it may be members of Jim's family who would be disappointed –they could come and listen anytime they wanted in the stables.

Pete strode into the room and joined the crowd gathered around his bed. "What's the official verdict then?" he growled at the others, all of whom mumbled slightly, not catching his eye. "Are we cancelling a sold out concert?"

"Sold out?" Ric cracked the words out, struggling to sit up. "Shit, we are at capacity, what is that – three thousand?" His tour manager nodded and sat down on the edge of the duvet and suddenly with four people around the bed he felt claustrophobic. "Can you stop crowding me guys," he snapped, pushing his sweaty hair off his head. "You aren't giving me last rites here!"

"Spoken like the true Catholic you claim you aren't," Jim flung back, but he also sat down, Angus and Sandy fell into chairs a bit further away. "So can you pray for some divine healing or something?"

Ric let his head fall into his hands, hardly able to breath with his bunged up nose and sore throat. God he felt horrendous – as if someone had mopped the floor with his body and flung it into the corner. In fact he hadn't been this ill since – since Glastonbury! At least then he had Izzy to nurse him, rather then a roomful of large men staring down at him, their faces showing their disgust that he, the lead singer of the group dare be ill.

"Pass me those pills," he croaked, holding a hand out for the brown bottle the doctor had left. He chased them down with some water, swigged cough mixture out of the sticky bottle that was next to them and followed it with two strong painkillers. "Right, fuck off the lot of you. I am going to sleep – wake me up two hours before we are due to go on stage. We aren't cancelling. Jim, you are gonna' have to sing descants tonight – I will just carry the tune." He crashed back down onto the pillows, pulling one over his head and deliberately turning his back on his friends. He needed to somehow find the energy to play this concert.

He sat in the changing room later that evening, blurry eyed and shaking as the fever grabbed hold of him. At least the penicillin had started to work and his throat didn't feel quite so raw, but the cough mixture was seriously strong stuff and made him feel tripped out. God knows how some bands went on stage off their faces and still played – he doubted he would be able to walk across the room straight.

They were already late going on; the support band finishing ten minutes ago, but he wanted to leave it as long as possible, try and make the cocktail of medication he had taken a chance have some effect whilst Jim sat there, sipping his usual pre-gig whisky, his eyes flickering over Phantom with concern. "What are you drinking their Jimbo?" he asked finally having stared at him with a glazed expression for five minutes.

"Laphroaig, d'you want some?" Jim passed the bottle over and Ric started at it with desperation. He had tried every other medication and was still feeling in the depths of hell, not much too loose. He tipped the bottle back and downed a mouthful, spluttering as the iodine taste hit him in the back of the throat, burning down his gullet. At least it anesthetised the pain with the horrendously strong flavour.

"How the fuck do you drink that stuff," he gasped, passing the bottle back to his friend and standing up, trying to ignore how the room spun around him.

"It is cask strength, ten year old Islay single malt you Neanderthal, made to be drunk slightly diluted. Are you seeing straight – how many fingers am I holding up?" Jim gave him the v-sign.

"Very funny. Right, ready mate – bring the bottle with you because if we don't go on now it won't happen." He took a step forward, trying to avoid crashing into the doorframe as he took his customary position at the head of the group walking towards the stage. He was only going to get through this concert on a wing and a wish and he found himself silently mouthing the words to the prayers he had learnt in his youth – anything and everything to keep him going.

He ended up drinking the whole bottle, swigging a mouthful between sets, the audience seeming to get further away, down the end of a very long dark tunnel. He could feel his voice cracking as he aimed for the high notes, often having to drop an octave. But he was also aware of the rest of the band at his back, supporting and carrying him along. And if had sweat dripping off his body, it wasn't any different from normal. Somehow, he wasn't quite sure how he played the final notes of the last song, slamming the guitar down from above his head as normal, stumbling slightly with the blood rush to his head. God, he was steaming drunk!

"Goodnight Edinburgh," he slurred into the microphone, clutching it in an attempt to stand upright. Thankfully the audience didn't seem to notice, cheering and screaming their appreciation at the music. He ripped his sweaty top off and threw it into the crowd, laughing slightly as it was pounced on – enjoying the cooler breeze blowing across his body.

He felt Jim's arm wrap around his torso, and leant his weight against him as he half walked, was half dragged off the stage. He leant against a wall, a towel draped across his face, shaking with adrenalin, drugs and a fever. "Hey Tom," he lowered the towel and stared at Pete concentrating on his face by sheer will. . "I've got a car arranged for you back to Glasgow, go have a shower now!" He thumbed behind him and Ric pushed himself off the wall, once again stumbling slightly, his balance shot.

He didn't have the energy or coordination to undress and shower, but briefly removed the mask to splash some water at his face. He threw a sweater and a coat over his naked torso, before letting Pete personally guide him to the car waiting in the loading bay of the theatre. He was too far gone to even try and socialise with anyone and had said his goodbyes and best wishes to the band before they went on stage – it had been a miracle that he had managed to get through at all and now he just wanted to slide away quietly and die.

* * *

It was like being in a cocoon, he decided later, lying on the bed wrapped in the duvet, vaguely aware of his grandmother standing over him, her voice distorted and distant as she alternately spoke to him and his grandfather. He swore and screamed as she wiped his body down with a wet flannel, the cold a huge shock to the heat of his skin. Lots of water, more medicine, even a doctor who gave him a shot of some sort - the routine seemed to be a never ending circle, the separate hours and days lost in his fevered state.

He had no idea what day it was when he finally woke up, feeling hot and sweaty but at least aware of his surroundings. He was in his mother's old room, lying in her bed with the patterned blue duvet cover. He rolled over onto his side, aware for the first time in what felt like forever that his limbs didn't ache, his head didn't pound. The view out the window was of a grey sky, possibly snow, some rooks on the roof opposite hopping over the chimney pots.

The sound of creaking alerted him to someone coming up the steps, the slight exhalation of breath told him it was his grandfather even before he opened the door. He struggled to push himself up onto the pillows, watching the entrance.

"Richie lad," the broad Glaswegian tones and the pet name of his youth were like a balm and he beamed a dopey smile at his grandparent, suddenly glad that he was back at home, safe and secure. "It is good to see you awake!" He walked over to the chair at the side of the bed and fell into it with a slight grunt, his whole focus on his Grandson. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know," Ric replied honestly. He didn't feel like he knew anything. "Where's Gram?"

"At church lad, it is Christmas Day."

"Christmas Day! But that means I've been out of it for what, four days?"

"Aye," the single word was gruffly spoken causing Ric to look over at his Grandfather his forehead wrinkled in concern. "You've been quite sick son, your Grandmother even let me skip mass today, preferred I stayed home and kept an eye on you." His words caused Richard to crack a painful smile – it was rare that either of them were allowed to miss a Sunday service. "She was very worried about you, had the doctor over twice – bathing you down, all sorts of medicine. You were a mess when you came home – what had you been doing?"

Richard opened his mouth to explain and then closed it again. He wasn't actually quite sure – not really remembering getting home, how he had got in the house and definitely how he had ended up in bed wearing, he took a peak under the duvet, his pyjama pants and a t-shirt. "Um, well, it was the end of a long tour," he spoke, knowing that the words were totally inadequate. His grandparents had no idea what life on the road was like, he might as well have been discussing _mens rea _and other law terms with them, they would probably have more of a clue.

"Well we heard you come in with enough noise to wake the dead and then about an hour later there was a thud and you were passed out on the living room floor, smelling like a distillery and wearing what your Gram thought were entirely inappropriate clothes. Just warning you lad, you will get an ear bashing later." Richard found himself blushing knowing that the sight of him as the Phantom was far removed from the image he presented as the dutiful grandson. Still, his Grandfather seemed more amused then angry, he reasoned – not quite sure if his Grandmother would be the same however.

"Can I get up," he asked after a pause, suddenly wanting to leave the safety of the bedroom.

"I have to take your temperature," his Grandfather replied, brandishing an old fashioned mercury thermometer that Richard remembered from all his childhood illnesses. "If it's ninety eight and a half or lower then you are allowed downstairs to open presents and have a little light lunch, if not, I'm afraid you have to stay incarcerated and," he dropped his voice to a confidential tone, "in case you've forgotten I wouldn't cross matron Stewart on this one." He moved the small stick towards his grandson's mouth and Richard found himself automatically taking it under his tongue with a slight sigh. It was amazing how being ill was a great leveller. He was no longer Phantom, lead singer and therefore king of the tour, but the unwell grandchild, sick in bed. How he had fallen – the fact he could carry a tune held no cache here! "Don't look so mutinous," the warning came with a smile and Ric realised he must have been frowning. "Just be grateful that you aren't little anymore. She used to stick the thermometer up your bum when you were a baby!"

His temperature had thankfully dropped and he was allowed downstairs, swaddled in his old flannel dressing gown and a pair of thick socks to lie on the sofa, staring at the gaudily decorated Christmas tree. It held a true mishmash of ornaments, from the wonky angel that he had apparently made in nursery to some beautiful glass baubles his Uncle had bought. It was paired with coloured lights and a small pile of presents underneath. Richard sunk back onto the sofa with a weary sigh, the trip downstairs exhausting and gazed at it, finding comfort in the constant routine – the tree had always looked like this and hopefully always would.

He must have fallen asleep, still tired with the effort of doing anything more strenuous then sleeping for the next thing he was aware of was his Grandmother standing over him, dressed in her Sunday best. "Richard _gaol_," she crooned softly causing him to flutter his eyelids and wake up. She hadn't called him that for years – Richard love. He must have been sick. "Glad to see you're awake." Her tone of voice became brisk, back to being the matron in charge as soon as he opened his eyes again and she held an expert hand against his forehead, the palm deliciously cool and soft. "Aye, you are no longer feverish," she diagnosed with ease. "I suppose you'll be wanting some presents then?"

Ric had to choke back a laugh – being home was like being eleven again. His grandparents seemed to truly believe he was more excited by the idea of tearing the wrapping off the assortment of gifts under the tree then anything else. In truth it made him feel slightly guilty. He had money now, lots of it if the bank statements were too be believed – hundreds of thousands for the first time in his life, their finances sorted out as the tour came to an end. In fact in the brief few weeks between now and the start of their US expedition he had planned to start looking at property. He was sure that they small tasteful gifts under the tree would not match anything he could buy himself. Immediately he felt contrite – it didn't matter what his Grandparents had or hadn't bought him. They had obviously just nursed him through several days of fairly dehabilitating illness – that is what mattered, the love they had for him, not the size of the presents that had bought. "Aye," he said with a slight laugh. "Did I get a stocking as well?"

His grandmother smiled indulgently and produced the overstuffed knitted sock with a flourish, it's lumpy shape testimony to the contents which Ric knew would be the same as always, three Satsuma, a bag of chocolate coins, some toothpaste, shaving foam, a pair of socks and other odds and ends. His smile widened as he put his hand in and pulled out the fruit, digging his finger into the skin and ripping it off, glad of the sweet flesh in his mouth.

It was then that he hesitated, realising for the first time that his wrist was free of bracelets and jewellery, his fingers clean. At all times he wore his watch, his mothers old ring on his thumb and the bracelet Izzy had given him, on stage usually a lot more and nail polish on his fingers, black or sometimes silver. His grandmother had obviously cleaned him up as she nursed him, no doubt disgusted by the state of his body, abused from four months on tour. He had a second tattoo inked onto his other arm when he had been bored one afternoon in Birmingham and now a flowing line wrapped around his right bicep, the opposite arm to his other decoration. His hair was ragged again, the neat cut she had pressed on him had grown out enough that he tended to once again tie his hair back off his face, which is how it had been when he woke.

"Gram, where's my watch?" he called out to her as she left the living room.

"Next to the bed," she replied. "With all the other strange things you were wearing." Her tone of voice expressed her disgust and Ric bite back a smile – typical. He eased himself off the sofa and climbed the stairs, amazed how exhausting and strenuous he found the few steps. Resuming his running was going to be a nightmare when he was fit enough again.

He found the bracelet and immediately fastened it to his wrist, slipped his mother's ring back on, finding their combined weight a comfort, before digging through his suitcase to find the presents he had bought for his family. Simply climbing the stairs and bending over searching through the duffle bag with his clothes in had made the blood rush around his body, his head pounded and he sat up dizzily, pulling the bag onto the bed with him. It seemed that the dirty washing had been removed and Ric winced at the thought of his Grandmother inspecting his clothes and commenting on their ripped and abused state.

He pulled out the envelope and bag that he had come upstairs for, pausing for a minute his body trembling with the demands he had put on it. Only a week ago he had been on stage for nearly two hours, was running for an hour every morning and now climbing the stairs had him shaking and exhausted like an old man. He hefted a sigh at the thought, his attention diverted as the phone next to his bed began to ring.

"Hello?" He picked it up wearily, suddenly realising that he didn't feel like contact from the outside world – he obviously still wasn't fully recovered.

"Ric! Merry Christmas you old tosser! Glad to see you've switched your phone on finally!"

"Hey Jimbo – Merry Christmas," he hefted a sigh and absent mindedly rubbed the scar on his face, noticing that his skin seemed less dry and flaky then normal. Showed what a few days without his mask did for it. "How's it going?"

"Fan-bloody-tastic. Didn't you hear – 'Light of Day' is Christmas number one!" He sung the last few words down the phone line, the joy in his voice clearly fuelled at least partially by alcohol.

"Shit, no way – I thought crapstar was going to overtake it, midweekers were suggesting so."

"We held on man, dug in there. Bloody good song though isn't it? Everyone keeps asking me to sing it to them and getting rather bored by the words, so we might have to give a little performance at Hogmanay. You are coming over aren't you?"

"Yeah, if I feel better – been kinda' out of it. Will there be room for me?"

"Course there will. I mean whole family is here and staying so it seems, but we will find you a sofa or bed somewhere."

"Thanks, you make it sound so welcoming," Richard replied dryly, enjoying the exuberance in his friend's voice. It was like a breath of fresh air.

"Always! You know Dev tried to get hold of you on Sunday and your Grandmother gave him an earful. He phoned me up to complain about the 'old biddy' who answered your phone and didn't seem to understand how important it was that you went on the radio for an interview! He was seriously put out." Ric laughed again, imagining the conversation.

"Did you go on instead?"

"Yeah, take it you were wasted so gallantly stepped into the breech. Man, still can't quite get over it all!"

"It's good news hey," he paused and sighed, exhausted at the usual frantic conversation of his friend. "Look Jim, I'll see you in a week – had better go and all."

"Yeah, no worries. Have a good Christmas. See you!" And with that he hung up, leaving Ric staring at the phone in his hand, torn between the excitement of having his song at the top of the charts and sheer bloody exhaustion, his brain almost refusing to digest the information. He chucked the phone down on the bed and collapsed backwards next to it, shutting his eyes briefly and allowing his body to sink back into the soft mattress. An hour ago he couldn't wait to get up, now he just wanted to crawl back under the covers and go to sleep again. Shit, he can't have been well at all – convalescing was a real pain.

He swung his legs onto the duvet, burying them under the welcoming warmth of the linen and laid his head back against the pillows with a slight sigh. Lifting a lazy hand he grabbed his phone and went to put it back next to the bed. The screen lit up with his e-mails and he desultorily scrolled through the list. The usual from his friends and a couple of old colleagues wishing him Seasons Greetings, some messages, already offering sale discounts on books and music, including a special offer on the _Cluinn_ album and newsletters from the Alumni department of the University and the Law Society. Boring, boring – same old stuff. He deleted them without reading, panning through the messages and ruthlessly getting rid of them, not bothering with replies – he wanted to be a hermit for a little while, remain below the radar. He scanned the next e-mail, stopping at the first line, his eyes shooting back to the sender, his hand trembling slightly as he saw Isabella's name.

_Dear Ric, thank you for your kind note, the books and DVD. It was nice for you to try and drop by and see me. So sorry I couldn't make it to the concert or up to Edinburgh – it is difficult to get away at the moment. Please be assured that I am back to full health, it was only a minor blip as I was just being a bit too busy and stressed. I hope we can meet up when you are next back in London. Happy Christmas.. Izzy xox _

He read the message three times, hoping that the polite friendly words would change into a declaration of love, an explanation, something more then the cheerfully distant tone that it had adopted. It was almost a carbon copy of the note he had written to her – revealing nothing of deeper emotions, trying very hard to be light and friendly. He shook his head, not knowing what to think – pleased on the one hand that she had broken her self-enforced silence to write to him, frustrated on the other that it was not what he wanted to read. He slung the phone onto the bedside cabinet and curling up under the duvet went back to sleep.

* * *

He sat on the bed a few days later, the phone clamped to his ear, attempting to exchange light hearted banter with the interviewer on the other end of the line. He hated telephone interviews – even more so knowing that it was going out on air live, his voice being sent to millions of radios all over Great Britain. The single was still number one, holding the chart position for both Christmas and New Year, seeing one year out and another in with the same song. Dev had been on the phone to him, begging that he appear on Jools Holland to perform it on New Year's Eve, or attend the Hogmanay festival in Edinburgh; but he resolutely refused backed by the rest of the band – they were all tired, enjoying their break, they needed to rest and he was still recuperating, finding the rigours of the day still quite strenuous and often crawling into bed for a mid-afternoon nap like an old man.

He smiled to himself, remembering how he listen to the radio as a teenager imagining the singers at parties, in huge houses, about to go on stage as they talked down the phone line. In reality most of them had probably been in the same situation he was, half laying on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, a cup of tea at his elbow and talking on the phone with one hand, doodling pictures in his notebook with the other. Very unglamorous, but that was so true about much of the life he now led.

Finishing the conversation he paused before switching the phone off. It had been strange to get back into the mould of Phantom, having spent a week at home. Here he was allowed to be himself, wander around without his mask on – not having to watch what he said or did; not expected to be brooding or clever, or an endless machine that made music. He sighed and stretched; reaching for the tea to wash down his throat – he still had the remains of a cough and his voice was deeper slightly hoarse. The few times he had practiced singing he sounded like a croaking frog – major reason not to perform anywhere on New Year's Eve.

The mug made him smile – an unexpected Christmas present for him that Izzy had sent, along with a large hamper for his Grandparents. The printed words on the porcelain stated '_I am the Phantom'_. She had understood the irony of giving him such a gift. And yet despite the couple of cheery e-mails he had sent back to her note, she had not replied. He had tried to stay upbeat about it, not get stressed. Hey, it was her work e-mail address; she probably wasn't checking them over the holiday period. The e-mail and the gift showed that she was still thinking about him, that she cared – probably.

He swung his legs off the bed and stretched, feeling the muscles in his back crack and realign. He needed to start getting out in the mornings again, walking and attempting a bit of jogging, otherwise all the ground he had made on his fitness in the past four months would be erased by a week of being mollycoddled at home. Not that he was complaining.

"Richard," there was a quiet knock on the door and he took the one stride across the small room to open it. His grandmother stood there, a pile of clean laundry in her arms. "Are you finished?" He nodded and held out his arms for the clothes, recognising them as most of his wardrobe, lovingly washed and ironed, the care and attention put into them almost too much for their tatty state.

"Thanks Gram," he bent down and impulsively pressed a kiss to her wrinkled cheek, inhaling the scent of soap and hairspray, a smell that dominated all the memories he had of her.

"Now you won't just leave those in a pile on the bed to get crumpled again, put them away before you are much older lad," she lectured him from the doorway, blushing with his attention. He nodded in reply and as much to keep her happy made a great show of opening the dresser drawers and sliding the washing inside before closing it again. "That's better."

"You see a leopard can change his spots," he replied, scooting across the room back to where she stood in the doorway and wrapped his arm around her waist, leaning his head in on her shoulder, even though she stood a good foot shorter them him. He had inherited his Grandfather's height. "D'you mind if I play the piano in the living room, I just need to bash out a few tunes?" In truth he desperately needed to review much of what he had written on tour, get it into a state that the rest of the band could contribute to the polishing of the songs. At the moment a shabby notebook of scribbling did not make a second album.

"Not at all lad, Jean is coming around for a cup of tea later, but you won't disturb us. You Grandfather is out, a bit of music might be a nice distraction." He nodded gravely, not sure if he could categorise everything that he wrote as nice. Yet it was pleasant to sit in front of a keyboard again, to graze his hands over the worn ivory keys and press then down in chords, listening to the resonant tone from the bashed old instrument.

Like much of the house it was worn and old, but kept sparkling clean and in good working order, a testament to how his Grandparents lived their lives – carefully and with great attention to detail. It was how he had been bought up. And now, as long as he could keep selling music, he was able to buy this house he grew up in several times over – provide them with new furniture, new transport anything they could desire. Yet he knew they would not want that, would advise him to invest it for a rainy day, to be sensible and sober. Instead he had booked them a tour of Rome, let his Grandmother see the home of the religion that meant so much to her and to see it in style. She had wept tears when she had opened that Christmas present.

He looked at the random jottings he had made in the notebook, translating it to actual notes as he pressed the notes down on the piano, listening to the change of key, dropping a note in some places, adding them others – translating a lot of what he had written in usable, workable music. As always when he composed he lost track of time, barely noticing as the doorbell rang, as the light faded into the early night of winter. Instead as he drifted off with his music, he found himself thinking about Izzy, about what had happened to their relationship.

She had been with him last Christmas and New Year, their fledgling relationship felt so right, so perfect and now a year later, it had crumbled into dust. Barely realising what he was doing his fingers moved across the keys, the notes for his hit song played out underneath his fingers as he sung along – Izzy's song, the one piece of music he loved and despised in equal measure, for singing it always bought an ache to his heart.

With a start he looked up, the clock on the mantel showing it as five, he had been at the piano for nearly four hours – how antisocial could he be? He only had a couple of days left with his Grandparents and he was holed up playing music, denying them use of the largest room in the house. He stood up and wandered into the kitchen, stopping in the doorway when he saw the three elderly people gathered around the table at the end.

"Ah Richard lad," his Grandfather beckoned him over. "You've decided to rejoin the land of the living, come and have a cup of tea. You remember Jean don't you?" He smiled vaguely in the old lady's direction, aware that she had been around on the periphery of his childhood, but not able to place her further.

"Was that you playing that lovely music?" she enquired politely as he poured himself a cup, rejecting sitting in a chair and choosing to lean against the worksurface instead, standing apart from the tea party. He nodded with another slight smile; it was not an area he really wished to discuss.

"That was Richard's music," his Grandmother chirped in with pride. "The last song he was playing, the beautiful one. Wrote it about an old girlfriend," she flashed him a look and he raised his eyebrows at her in a hard stare, silently reminding her of the ground rules. No mention of his 'day job' no reference to Cluinn or Phantom in other people's presence. Even though he seriously doubted a seventy year old woman paid much attention to the pop charts and would make the connection. But then the video was being played everywhere and there was an outside possibility that she would connect the tall, silent man propping up the kitchen cupboards with the masked male playing guitar on the television, whilst the camera panned around the woman asleep on the bed. Hopefully not.

"Well, it was quite lovely listening to you play lad," Jean would not be silenced by his Grandmother or the look he had shot at the table. "You have a real talent, could really go places with that!" He nearly snorted his tea, swallowing his laughter in the mug – sometimes it was nice to be treated as an ordinary person again.

The last of his Christmas holidays sped by, his body recovered from the heavy dose of Flu he had suffered and he enjoyed the peace of the house, knowing that he was about to resume his crazy schedule. He had to get over to Jim's, back to the stables so he and the boys could spend a few days jamming, learning some new material and agreeing what would go on the next album. He had to be in New York in two weeks to record the scratches.

He was in his bedroom packing his bags one last time, admiring the perfect pressing of his clothes as he put them in the bag, gathering his personal belongings which were strewn around the house. "Here you go lad," his Grandmother came into the room, handing him a neatly folded pair of leather trousers, the ones he had worn back to Glasgow after the concert. "I can't quite imagine you wearing those really – they don't look fit for use what with those laces on the crotch and so low slung." He laughed.

"Gram, remind not to let you come to a concert any day soon," he took the offending costume off her, putting it in the bag with the rest of his clothes.

"Well, you must have to use half a bottle of talcum powder to even get them on in the first place they look so tight. And I imagine you must sweat terribly wearing them. Or is that all the rage with you rock stars these days?"

"Aye, among others things. But they are only a costume for a character that I perform on stage, that's all. I wouldn't wear them to the supermarket or anything."

"I understand only..."She paused, her brow furrowed as if she wanted to say something but found it hard to speak the words. "Richard – _gaol_, tell me honestly, this life; this silly duality character thing you are doing – it's not getting to you too much is it?" At the question he turned his full concentration onto the elderly woman standing at his elbow. It was what he had expected her to ask.

"What do you mean Gram?"

"Oh Richard, you Grandfather and I have been following it, we go on the world wide web and see the pictures, read the stories. It is all so odd, the way you are referred to as Phantom, the way you wear those masks. Are you sure you are protecting who you are as a person?"

"Yes," he replied gravely, realising that she may be getting old, but was as astute as ever. "It protects who I am as I still have a life outside of performing. Phantom is put away and I can get on being Richard Stewart. Jim doesn't get that and he doesn't mind all the attention, but I would. I can still slip away unseen from a concert venue if I want – none of your friends even realise that it is my song they are hearing. I fought it at first, didn't like it, but the more I am touring and performing, the more I get involved with this lifestyle, the more I am glad I have me, Richard to be at the end of the day." He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for your concern though."

"And you are staying away from the drugs aren't you lad?" Ric laughed slightly, he knew this conversation was overdue.

"Yes Gram, without a shadow of a doubt – I have no desire to go back there again. How long did you lock me in my room for that time?"

"Seven days it took for you to go cold turkey," she replied tartly. "Seven days of hell Richard Ian and I will be damned to the devil if you ever go back there. I am glad to see you are almost managing to keep a head on those shoulders of yours." She sniffed slightly and placed an arm around him. "You are such a special boy to me Richard, I only wish the best for you."

Ric return the gesture, his spare hand reaching up to his eye to wipe the moisture away that threatened to suddenly spill out. Shit, wouldn't do to be seen getting so emotional, if he started he might not stop. "Love you," he said softly to the old woman. "Thank you for everything."


	42. Chapter 42

**And it just keeps on coming...**

Chapter 42

New York was cold in January – freezing cold. Ric has blithely assumed that he would not find it too bad, after all he was Scottish and Edinburgh winters could easily freeze you to the bone, but nothing had prepared him for the chilling wind that cut through you like a knife, or the grey piles of slush that lined the pavements making a boggy mess of the sidewalk.

It was also a frantic city, lacking the peaceful roads and parks that characterized London, or the graceful hills and avenues of Edinburgh. Instead every road on the grid system of Manhattan had traffic bellowing to move, making the pace frenzied and edgy. He hadn't time to venture much further then the commute between his hotel on the Upper East Side to downtown Greenwich, where the studios were located, having only four days to record all the scratches for the new album, but found the energy and pace of the city hugely overwhelming.

As none of the band members could agree on a final select list they had decided that all twenty-three songs they liked would be recorded and then they would make the final cut, keeping some back as extra releases. It meant that Ric had a heck of a schedule to keep to – again.

It had been great to get back over to Jim's house after New Year, feeling rested, relaxed and full of energy and ideas. Reviewing all the music he had composed had helped him to refine his choice and make some decisions about what he was writing. There was a huge variation in the songs, from heavy anthems to slower ballads, acoustic lead tunes and others driven by the whine of the guitar - something that was becoming a trademark of Cluinn and Phantom's style of musical writing. He had been playing them through to his friends, letting them comment, create and suggest – as they always had done. He wasn't egocentric enough to demand that he had sole artistic input on their music.

"You know something mate," Angus cracked open a can of beer, lounging on the sofa, his beloved hand built Fender bass propped up next to him. "You can tell when you wrote these songs." He took another swig of beer, ignoring the furrows creasing Ric's forehead where he sat at the piano.

"Meaning?" He hated the way Angus made vague but deliberate comments – there was always more to the innocent statements then first seemed.

"Relationship wise. You can tell how you were feeling when you wrote the song." Angus belched softly. "How you were feeling about Izzy at that particular moment, if you want me to spell it out." He returned the glare that Ric shot at him.

"Not true," he uttered the words softly, annoyed that he could be so easily read, that his heart was on display through his music.

"True," Sandy joined in, softly tapping the edge of a cymbal with his drumstick so the ringing reverberated through the room. "But it's not a bad thing you know – gives the music some dimension and direction." He shrugged and burst into a solo flourish on the drums as if he were getting rid of excess energy.

Ric sat at the piano, grinding his teeth and thinking. He had not set out to write songs about his relationship. Shit, he didn't want to slip into the territory of love ballads and soppy emotional lyrics, leave that to the manufactured popstar tunes, or crapstar as they had renamed them. He simply wanted to write about things that inspired him, emotions that affected people everyday. Of course there was also the added pressure to write the follow-up to 'Light of Day' another song that could unite people in its tune and lyrics. "Sands, play that beat again," he held up a hand, suddenly aware of the rhythm behind him, changing the key of the latest track they had been working on to B minor and playing the tune on the piano again, repeating the riff before going up another octave. Angus jumped off the sofa, put his can on the floor and picked up his guitar, adding a bass line. "The sun goes down," Ric crooned without really thinking as he played before stopping and bellowing. "Jim get your ass in here now!"

He was always amazed at how the songs suddenly came together. Sometimes he could work on a tune for ages and the hook always remained just out of reach, at others it would almost fall fully formed into his lap. This was one of those opportunities.

Half an hour later it was down on paper, written out perfectly, needed no more tweaking and he just knew that it was going to be one that gathered people in. The inspiration for the music had been when he had decided to let Izzy go, in Bristol when he had first let another woman into his bed. It had been his goodbye to her. Now it was down as a track on the album – so easy.

In some ways, given that they had managed to get twenty-three songs out of the detritus of his composing, most of them came without too many problems. The hard bit would be choosing which ones went on the album, and then there would be issues as each of them already had their favourites.

But given their hectic touring schedule and the plans that were being made for their year this was a perfect window to get the groundwork in, record the scratches, maybe add some rhythm guitar, for then they could come back to New York during the next two months of their USA tour and add layers or moonlight in studios around the States as they went. Either way the aim was to have it all on file by the end of March, a month and a half to clean it up and make sure the production was as tight as possible and then release in May with promotion through a world tour.

Which was why he ended up by himself in New York, leaving the rest of the band to extend their winter holiday by another week and a half. As always, it was up to him to lead Cluinn forward and make sure they continued on their star lit path to fame and fortune. He may now have money but he wasn't sure when he was actually going to get a chance to spend it. In the few spare hours between jamming with the boys and catching a flight across the pond he had changed bank accounts, paid off his loans and now had a large amount of money sitting in a high interest account yet had no time to do anything with it!

Instead he was holed up in a small windowless room a few metres square, setting out the base line for the songs in a rough format that they could use as a guide for laying down the different parts of the music. It was quite isolating and required tremendous self-concentration, just him and a metronome, attempting to get the beat and tempo right. After two and a half days he was sick to the back teeth of the whole affair.

"Tom, you wanna' come out tonight?" At least the team here were a good bunch. They stopped the whole experience from being totally horrendous, dragging him out at the end of the day to have a drink, experience a little of the diversity and nightlife of New York. It was quite overwhelming.

"Sure," he replied, exiting the booth so he could stretch and grab a drink from the fridge in the foyer. He bent down looking at the variety of tinned soft drinks on offer, grabbing a Diet Coke for himself and a bottle of water. His throat felt a bit rough from the air conditioning.

"Hey, pass us a drink would you?" The feminine voice permeated his consciousness, but he was stooped over and could not see the owner of the voice. Instead he waved his hand, waiting for her to mention a choice. "Diet Coke please." He grabbed a can from the shelf and passed it back to the voice, straightening as he did so, bending the kink out of his back – being tall was so annoying at times. "Don't suppose you have any Jack to go with that?" The female tone continued; her pitch high and light, youthful, sexy. He spun around to see what the owner looked like – heck he hoped she was half as good looking as her spoken word suggested.

She stood to one side, her hair a dirty blonde tangle past her shoulders, her narrow gamin face had huge brown eyes inked and lined in black, her lips pulled into a rouged pout. Her clothes were picked out as if she were about to go on stage, a little t-shirt on despite the inclement weather and a huge jangle of necklaces and bracelets. His eyes travelled her body appreciatively taking in the tight jeans that highlighted a beautiful young and toned body, topped off with a pair of stiletto boots. Damn she looked hot, even if it was slightly out of place for the middle of a cold winter's day in New York.

"You're Phantom aren't you?" she asked her voice a breathy tone.

"Um, yeah." Of course he was – it was damn obvious wasn't it? Most people didn't wander around wearing a mask, even fewer in a recording studio. His heart sank a little – just another fan who had somehow blagged her way into the studio. He was slightly surprised that she knew who he was. Cluinn did not have the same depth of exposure this side of the Atlantic. Sure there was a growing fan base, one they were due to exploit when they went on tour, but the rock scene was much more developed over here – there was a lot more competition to be heard.

"I'm..."

"Ellie!" The deeper voice from across the foyer had both Ric and this woman-child turn their faces in unison, looking at Steve, the chief engineer who was propping open the door to one of the studios, his face a picture of annoyance. "I told you to stop hassling our clients." Richard whipped his head back and forth between the staff member and the delicious sight in front of him, confusion at the interchange. Ellie (obviously her name) had pulled her face into a pout which only served to make her even more attractive, added a degree of maturity to the set of her face. She would be a killer with a few years adding depth to her features.

"She's not hassling me," he jumped in, a calming gesture at Steve, not needing the protection he was offering, too charmed and attracted by the women who looked at him, her head to one side, listening and observing the exchange that was going on. He got the impression that she knew exactly what she was doing, for a smile spread across her face as she watched the engineer shrug his shoulders.

"Fine, but don't give her any booze Tom, she's underage!" He warned, releasing the door from under his shoulder and going back into the studio. Richard turned back to Ellie.

"Underage?" he asked with shock. "How old are you?" Damn it there was no way this female was less the eighteen.

"I'm nearly twenty," her tone of voice was surly and he relaxed. Of course, he forgot that licensing laws were stricter in the US. No alcohol until they were twenty-one. "Even if Steve forgets and still thinks I am like, fourteen or something." Very surly now, it made her sound younger.

"Look, I'm sorry, I have no idea who you are?" he apologised. "Obviously you know me..."

"Of course Phantom. I first heard you back in England last summer."

"Where?"

"Glastonbury of course, where else?" She shrugged. "I thought you were so cool." He didn't reply, just gazed down at her, not sure how to treat her. Was she simply a persistent fan? The staff here obviously knew who she was and had known her for a long time. "I'm Ellie van Holding," she continued, holding out her hand. He shook it, although his eyes never left her face. Suddenly it all fell into place as his mind searched through the address book in his memory.

"You're Danny's daughter aren't you?" he said with certainty. That would explain her presence her and why the staff seemed to accept her with a weary resignation. Daughter to the owner of the recording studios. She obviously spent a lot of time hanging around and would explain how she had managed to be at Glastonbury – although he was sure she did not slum it in a tent like most of the visitors. Something about her air, the way she held herself – a degree of arrogance in the set of her head, the look in her eyes suggested to Ric that she led a life of spoilt luxury.

"You guessed quickly." She shrugged lightly. "Some people seem to have no idea at all. I hung out with the Black Crowes for two whole days as they thought I was staff, but..." she shrugged again and Ric found himself laughing at the face she pulled. He was charmed by her mature appearance and little girl way of speaking, her emotions written all over her face and her manners teetering on the confused cusp of being both a spoilt child and a mature adult.

He started, as he realised who she reminded him of, why he was possibly attracted to her – that was something in his manner that reminded him of Izzy. It wasn't the way she looked, this female was too skinny, her curves undeveloped and boyish as there was no weight on her body. But there was something in her manner that seemed familiar and Ric found himself drawn in to her flirting.

"Why do you want to hang out with musicians, we tend to be a narcissistic bunch – much better company around?"

"I don't know, familiar with the life maybe?" All her words seemed to be punctuated with little pouts and shrugs, consciously or not. Ric wandered over to the sofas, collapsing into one stretching his legs out before opening his drink and taking a swig. She followed and sat next to him. "So you got any JD then?" He snorted.

"It's three in the afternoon, why would you want alcohol in your drink at this time?"

"Why not?"

"Bit early to get pissed isn't it?" Her look was confused and he caught himself. Maybe he was just getting old? There had been plenty of times as a student that he had started drinking in the early hours of the afternoon – in fact that had been a couple of occasions when he hadn't sobered up from the night before. But that was nearly ten years ago, he had been eighteen. He paused and looked at the female next to him, yeah – getting old and boring.

"'Get pissed'. I love your English way of speaking, it's really funny."

"I'm not English, I'm Scottish," he snapped the words out slightly surprised at himself. He had never been one to get rampantly patriotic, but having this girl call him English annoyed him.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." She waved the comment away. "So you are a new wave musician then? Don't drink, don't smoke," she looked up at him through her eyelashes, "don't eat red meat."

"You speak with a lot of authority; obviously you have met lots of musicians."

"Hundreds." He laughed.

"Sorry to disappoint you Ellie, I do drink and I eat red meat and I smoke sometimes, although it craps up my voice so try not to. I just don't swig alcohol in the middle of the afternoon so have none to offer you – sorry. Nothing to do with your age or anything – shit in my country you would have been drinking for the last two years, doesn't bother me. The band in the other studio might have some if you ask." She shook her head.

"Steve's already warned them off and no, they are all swampy veggies that don't wash or shave," her disgust was evident in her voice and he laughed again.

"So what do you do when you aren't hanging around here annoying clients then? Haven't you got somewhere better to be on a January afternoon?"

"Oh yeah normally, but it's the holidays. I'm a major in Drama at Tisch NYU, want to act. Well, actually do act when I get the spare time." She added with a smile.

"What, like on stage?" He remembered some of his friends and acquaintances from his university days getting gigs whilst they were still undergraduates, if they were lucky, especially during the festival.

"No, TV. I had two lines in 'Cry for the Moon' last year and you know- loads of crowd scenes and stuff." He bit back the smile that threatened to emerge and nodded, burying his face in his drink, realising that she might not be the talented actress she thought. Then again, he had known her all of five minutes – she was definitely hot enough! He shifted uncomfortably trying to hide exactly how 'hot' he found her.

"So you just killing time until school starts again then?" He smiled at her, enjoying the uncomplicated conversation and the attention she was paying him – good ego boosting interest in what he was saying.

"Well sort of. You see the thing is, well...I am looking for someone to write me a song and I decided the best place to find that person would be here!" She flicked her hands out gesturing around her.

"Makes sense, although why do you want someone to write you a song – what for an audition piece or something?" He was charmed but confused.

"No for my band. We formed last semester, but then Bobbie got homesick and left at Christmas and now we got lots of talent, but no music. He was the songwriter see."

"Kind of," Ric nodded, suddenly things falling into place, why she was hanging around the studios, why Steve was getting annoyed with her presence. This was probably a classic routine, a way of getting music for the set up with her friends – using Daddy's clients and access to talent. He found it quite endearing however, enjoying her spunk and the way she looked. "Can't anyone else write? What good is a band if you don't understand music?"

"Well, Mitch can write, sort of, but his songs are so dreary, all futuristic and weird. He says he likes to challenge the listener." She sounded put out. "All I want is a good old fashioned rock anthem, something you can really pound to. Daddy's promised that if we find something good he will let us have studio time and we can record it, could even release it maybe!" Ric laughed again, shaking his head.

"Shit Ellie, you are naive if you think it's that easy. I will just see if anyone has a spare tune they will give me, stick it down and hey presto instant sales. I would have thought you had more of an idea of the business then that given this is your Dad's place." He sighed slightly thinking. For some reason he was moved to help her, even though the warning down his spine told him not to, stay well away. She was obviously a spoilt little madam, used to getting her own way. But maybe she would appreciate his assistance, or maybe he felt that fate was offering him a chance to repair some of the damage he had created with Izzy. He couldn't help his ex in her life anymore, but maybe this gamine could use it instead.

"I am not naive; I just believe you make your own luck." Richard was startled by her comment, the gutsy strength behind the words. He turned to face her, drinking in the deep brown eyes, holding her in his gaze and letting her know without a shadow of a doubt what he thought of her. He wasn't the sort of person to demand sexual payment for a favour, but he was still a hot blooded male and appreciated the sight in front of him.

"Okay then, I might have a tune." The words came out gruffly, but she squealed like a child given a present and clapped her hands together.

"You do, you do. Oh god, I knew you would. Cluinn is like my favourite band at the moment – will it be as good as 'Light of Day'? Rockier maybe, something a little bit heavier, more guitar riffs. Sev loves a good solo. Richard groaned slightly as she once again switched to child, resting his masked face in his hands, maybe it wasn't such a good idea. But then he had tunes to spare, there was some music, a piece he had written that all the other band members had rejected, said it was too feminine, not in keeping with their style. However it would be perfect for this woman child in front of him to sing – if she could sing.

"Can you sing?" he demanded, suddenly interested.

"Of course! I told you I am a drama major." She sounded put out by his question.

"Not every drama student can sing, I've met plenty who would make dogs howl. Tell you what, do a little audition for me now, in the studio and if you pass I will give you a song – deal?" She looked at him with wariness in her eyes.

"What sort of audition?" Ric was taken aback by her question, shocked that she might even think he wanted something else. But hey, not everyone had his sense of morals.

"Do you know 'Broken'?" He would punish himself by playing it, but it would also be a good way of judging her voice as he could compare it to Izzy's. Now there was a beautiful instrument.

"Of course, that's the one you performed at Glastonbury with your girlfriend wasn't it?"

"Yeah," he stood up before pausing. "She isn't my girlfriend, just a – a friend." Had she seen something in their performance that gave the game away? Shit, he had watched the video several times, trying to figure out how he managed to keep going whilst being on the verge of collapse with food poisoning and he had never noticed anything amiss in the way they interacted.

"Oh, okay, I just thought as she was singing with you," she shrugged and Richard realised that she had jumped to a conclusion; it wasn't anything he or Izzy had done. "So that's what you want me to sing? Cool!" He nodded and gestured for her to follow him into the studio.

The joys of modern technology meant they could take the original recording, fade out the lyrics and feed them through the cans for her to lay the words to. Ric sat in the booth with Steve, ignoring the dire warning the engineer had given and looked and listened to what was coming through on the speakers. Her voice was deeper then Izzy's and lacked the same startling clarity, with a tendency to drag the end of the words, but her tone was clear and her pitch even. She could sing. He gave her thumbs up as she came to the end of the song and she came dancing out of the booth and into the control room.

"You like? See- told you I could sing." She bent over and rested her head next to his causing Steve to snort with laughter, that he changed into a coughing fit as Richard shot him a gaze – there was some power in being the client.

"Yeah, okay – I will give you a song." He rubbed his eyes through his mask.

"When? Now? I can get the guys together." Phantom held up a warning hand, his eyes dark in his mask as they drunk her in. "Look, I have to get it down first and you need to practice it before you bring all your mates in here looking for a recording space. Also I've booked this studio for the next two days, so therefore I get first call on the time. This is a bit of fun for you; I have scratches to record." She pouted, obviously unhappy at not getting her own way.

"I can come over to your hotel this evening and practice and then we can go away as a band and practice tomorrow and record it at night. Doubt you want studio space overnight, do you?" Richard looked over to Steve who shook his head, a wry grin on his face.

"I'm out tonight Ellie. Look, I will have something down on paper by tomorrow, come and pick it up from here tomorrow morning, okay?"

"Okay!" She leant over and kissed his cheek again, once more the smiling and flirtatious women, happy to get her own way, before she danced out the studio door.

He was feeling mildly pissed by the time he got back to the hotel. They has started with a couple of cocktails at the trendy Little Bar, before moving on to a beer joint, full of students and suits. He enjoyed the anonymity of it, the scuffed up feel of a real dive – the sort of place he used to inhabit as a student. Food was plentiful and cheap as he wandered between drinking holes with the guys from the recording studios, getting a ribbing for succumbing to Ellie van Holding's act. Apparently she tried it on with most of the rock acts through the door – he wasn't the first, although they all agreed he could give her a run for her money, having so far dictated the agenda for the music and forcing her to prove her ability. Most other artists simply took what was on offer, often in one of the studios and then reneged on the promise of a song.

It was nearly midnight when the knock came on the door. He had been about to get ready for bed and had already taken off his top, flicked his contacts into the bin and was wearing just his jeans and mask. He hadn't had the time to clean the glue off his face and moisturise in line with the new beauty routine he was trying to adhere to in an attempt to keep his skin from breaking out again.

He peered through the spyglass, seeing a distorted view of someone's back, feminine – did not look like a member of staff. He opened the door. "Ellie!" She was standing in the doorway, a hesitant smile on her face, another over the top outfit on, this time a very short skirt and lacy tights coupled with clumpy boots and a t-shirt. Inspiration was obviously from Madonna's early eighties look.

"Hey Phantom!" The smile she flashed him was flirtatious. She paused looking at his naked chest. "Can I come in?" He resolutely remained in the doorway.

"How did you find out where I was staying?"

"Oh Daddy recommends this hotel to every international client and I know the concierge, told him I had to give you some important stuff. He told me your room number."

"Great," she seemed to miss the withering sarcasm he loaded on the word and instead flashed him a smile.

"Can I come in?" She repeated, the smile widening, licking a flirtatious tip of her tongue across her lips. He sighed and opened the door wider, standing aside so she could enter. She flounced in and sat down in the easy chair, her gaze taking in the whole room, the turned down bed, his pyjamas neatly folded on the pillow, the book on the bedside cabinet, neatly stacked with his iPod. It was totally ordinary and yet under her gaze Ric felt strangely vulnerable. Of course she was seeing Richard's way of living and it did not match up to Phantom's image.

"I told you I would have the music for you tomorrow," he said sternly standing with his hands on his hips, looking down at her with his eyes shadowed in the domino mask.

"I know, I just wanted to come and say, well you know; thank you." She shrugged and Ric frowned. He didn't want her to do it this way, didn't want to take advantage of her vulnerability, even if she was offering it and his body wanted it. Hell, he hadn't had a woman since before he was last in New York.

"You don't need to do that Ellie," he said softly. "It's not the price I ask. I just want some dedication – go home." He nodded towards the door, turning to open it, but she was by his side in a flash, her hand running up and down his torso. The lightly tickling sensation made him squirm.

"Come on Phantom, we are both consenting adults. I want you and..." her gaze moved to the bulge in his jeans. "You want me!" She pressed her lips to his arm and when he didn't move reached up and pressed a kiss to the exposed part of his cheek. "Let's give it a try," she whispered. He shifted his head so he could look into her eyes, saying nothing, but holding her in his gaze, torn between the unsubtle invitation and the confusion his love life was in. It helped that there was a connection that reminded him of Izzy, somehow it made her invitation more appealing then the usual blatant offering from the tarted up groupies.

He bent his head, deciding to let instinct lead him and placed his lips on hers, kissing her lightly, enjoying the kiss she gave back, her tongue creeping into his mouth. He pulled back and looked at her again silently before taking control, making sure he was leading. It wasn't long before they were lying on the bed, still kissing. She was down to her bra and pants, her small pert breasts supported by a scrap of silk and lace, whilst he was still wearing his jeans. She was a sexy little minx that was for sure.

He was able to block out his conscience, as Ellie had said they were both consenting adults and she had instigated the act. It was pleasant, undemanding and satisfied the very large itch between his legs, even if there was lingering guilt on his behalf, not wanting to have payment for his music. "That was great," she said, her little breathy girl voice back on as she lay with her head on his chest, her blonde hair tickling his skin. He folded his arms behind his head, propping himself up on the pillows, amused as she leant over and pulled a face at the book he was reading, grabbing his iPod and scrolling through his playlists and music. "You have a lot of classical on here." He could hear the frown in her voice.

"Yeah," Ric lifted his head slightly so he could look at her face. "Why not? I have other stuff as well but classical is the basis of it all. Wouldn't have Metallica if Mozart wasn't there first."

"Music geek," she sneered slightly. "Not exactly rock star is it?"

"Why should that have anything to do with it? I loved music long before I was a _rockstar_," he said the word with derision; it was always strange to refer to himself by such a title.

"Because," she turned, flipping her body over and rested her chin on his chest, staring into his eyes. "You are Phantom, you are a mysterious musical genius and so hellishly sexy to boot. And boy can you write some fantastic stuff." Her smile was full of invitation, except it didn't move him.

"I am not the Phantom of the Opera, Ellie," he said in a low voice that demanded her attention. "Don't confuse me with a crush you have on a character from a book, film, stage show." The gulp that sent a tremor through her body confirmed that she had made the typical connection many of the other fans had. They seemed to take the feelings they had for a fictional creation and due to the fact that the marketing department had exploited his looks and the name, decided he was the incarnation of that character.

"So who are you then?" she rejoined, not wilting at his derisive tone of voice. "You can't just be Phantom, doubt you were christened that. What name is on your passport, your credit cards?" She moved off his chest with speed making a dive for his jeans that lay in a heap on the floor, obviously hoping to find his wallet. Ric moved faster and grabbed her wrists, pinning her back to the bed, his masked face bearing down into hers.

"That is none of your business Eloise. If I wanted you to know I would tell you." She stared back at him defiantly, her teeth bared, not wilting under his hold as Izzy had once done. He loosened his grip; aware that he was even stronger now then a year ago and the thought of leaving bruises on those delicate little wrists...He sighed and sat back on his legs, kneeling on the bed. "This is usually where I give the girls a kiss on the cheek and show them to the door," he gestured to the bolted planks on the far side of the room.

"No Phantom, please don't..." Ellie pleaded, shuffling to her knees, seeming to be upset for the first time in their brief relationship. She looked down so her hair fell in a tangled blonde curtain in front of her face. He lifted it up with a hand, raised her chin with the other so he could look at her.

"No more soul searching then sweetheart, okay – or you will be outside that door naked and without your song. Now, don't know about you, but I need some sleep. You can stay if you want, but don't expect anything else." It was harsh but necessary – she was a taker and he would be a fool to expect anything back from her except the use of her body. The way she had offered it made Ric realise that it was her usual trade-off for favours.

"I'm sorry," she sounded young again and it caused him to crack a smile. He pulled the duvet down off the pillows, patted the mattress as an invitation for her to lie down and she crawled into bed looking slightly lost. He stood up and put his pyjama pants on, not wanting her to get the wrong impression before he chucked the t-shirt at her.

"Put this on, you'll get cold." She nodded and slid into it, the fabric swamping her narrow tiny body. He lay down next to her, resting his head on his hands, feeling the mask dig into his face. Shit he hated wearing it to sleep in, so darn uncomfortable. He sighed and turned out the light, plunging the room into darkness. "Goodnight Ellie," he said softly, wondering what on earth he was doing with his life.

* * *

It was the sound of traffic moving, the continual blare of horns that even managed to penetrate the triple glazing on the hotel windows that roused him. He resisted, burying his face in the pillow. Surely it wasn't morning already? He felt like he only had about four hours sleep. He opened one eye a crack and gazed at the alarm – it read eight o'clock – shit! As he reached up to rub his eyes that he realised two things simultaneously. The bed next to him was empty and he wasn't wearing his mask.

"Eloise," he bellowed, using all the considerable power in his lungs. There was a click as the door to the bathroom unlocked and she emerged. Her face wiped free of makeup, hair tied back off her face in a ponytail and her long thing legs sticking out the end of his oversized t-shirt she suddenly looked very young. She faced him, her jaw dropping as the gasp emerged and she covered her mouth with her hand as if she was trying to trap the noise in. "Damn you, you lying little shit!" Anger fuelled his words and his voice was loud. She stood there, her hand still over her mouth, shaking her head. "Why did you want to see this?" He gestured to his face. "Curse you and your curiosity." At this she removed her hand.

"I didn't" she squeaked, fear raising the pitch of her voice. "Phantom, I promise you, I didn't." She pleased, wildly looking around the room, her eyes resting on an object. She moved sideways, quickly with a pounce and crouched at the end of the bed her arm outstretched and her head downwards, hand holding the mask out to him. "Here, I think it must have fallen off."

"What?" He dropped his eyes to the covering she held out. His masks had never fallen off before, although he had never worn them for a whole night. He reached his hand up and touched his face around his temples feeling the tender patches where the adhesive had been. "Shit." The word was low and muttered but she heard, fixing his face with a hard stare, looking at him; drinking in the sight. He took the mask from her hand but didn't put it on – what was the point? She had taken in her fill; even now he could feel her gaze on him. Guilt flooded through him, he had jumped to a conclusion, not ratified the facts, thought through the argument before accusing someone. It was exactly the way he had behaved with Izzy and look where that had got him! He should have learnt his lesson. However at least this time he could make amends straight away. "I'm sorry, I jumped to conclusions," he said quietly, meeting her eyes. She nodded in reply, her eyes, which had been wide with alarm, narrowing slightly.

"So you really are ..." she paused reconsidering her words. "You do wear a mask for a reason then." She spoke quietly, never looking away from his face.

"Of course I do, it's not for fun," he snapped back, on edge as always when his face became a discussion point.

"There were rumours that it was just a set-up, people claimed they had seen you without it and you were fine. I, I'm sorry, it is a shock." To his dismay big fat wet tears started welling up in her eyes and running down her cheeks. Shit, he hated seeing women cry, even more if he was the cause of the tears.

"Ellie," he paused and moved over, putting her arms around her and pulling her into his chest, trying to ease some of the guilt that was a tight band around his chest. "Sweetheart, don't cry. I didn't mean to scare you." She sniffed and hiccupped once looking up at him with wide eyed trust.

"The thought did cross my mind," she admitted. "Removing your mask I mean. It was still more or less stuck on when I woke up and I was tempted to pull it off." She pouted again. "How did it happen? Where you born like that?" Ric pulled a face.

"Don't ask," he replied softly, the age old rhyme going through his head like a chant.

"Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies," she breathed back and he smirked slightly, nodding his head.

"Exactly." She moved her head up, placing her lips on his, seeking a kiss which he gave as an apology. She moved her hand, pushing for more. "No Ellie, let's leave it at last night, it can never be and I don't want to lead you on."

"You're not, I want to..." He placed a finger over her lips to stop her protest.

"You are selling yourself too cheap sweetheart. You have a good voice and given time can have a music or acting career – but your casting should not be done on the couch or the floor." She hung her head slightly at his words, her mouth a twisted line of acceptance, before she looked up at him again.

"You're still in love with her aren't you?" He sat up straighter at her words, frowning deeply.

"Who?"

"Her," she nodded towards his wrist and the bracelet that was tangled with his watch. "R.I.S and I.F.S." she spoke the initials obviously having studied them. "One of those is you and the other is the person you are in love with. Do you have a girlfriend or a wife? It's never been said." Her innocent words cut him like a knife, how close she was to the truth. He let out a sigh.

"My name is Richard," he replied softly, realising that he was putting a vast amount of trust in her, this strangely sexy and yet vulnerable woman currently cuddled in his arms. "But you can't tell people, mustn't let on that you know." He bought her into the web of deceit that paraded as marketing.

"Okay, I promise and I do keep them," she nodded earnestly. "And what's her name?"

"Isabella." He spoke the word, his voice lingering on the syllables of her name.

"That's pretty." She looked down again, reaching out a hesitant finger to play with the silk and silver. "So where is she? If she is that special to you I thought she would be by your side – stop girls like me getting into your bed." He gave a deep heartfelt sigh, her body moving with his at the exhalation.

"She is married to another man," he bit out, shifting her off his lap and swinging his legs off the bed. "So there is no hope there it would seem, but I cannot forget her and am finding it hard to move on." He stalked across the room and into the bathroom, disgusted at how he always felt so angry and upset, unable to truly control his emotions – especially to this teenager in his bedroom.

She came and stood in the doorway, swinging on the frame, peering around and watching as he shaved and cleaned his face. "You know that is a total no-hoper, not if she married someone else. Don't know why you are bothering."

"I'm not," he ground out as he lathered his face. "I am just having a hard time accepting the fact. We broke up ...badly," he hesitated unable to voice what had happened, not wanting this child to know more then she had to. Ellie just shrugged and smiled.

"Well, anytime I can be of service..." She laughed and swung around the door leaving him in peace in the bathroom, frowning at her blatant invitation. She obviously did not take 'no' for an answer.

* * *

"Play it again," Ric ground out over the speakers, rubbing his eyes tiredly. It was one AM and he had been at the studios since ten the morning before. Ellie and her friends had turned up at five, bubbling over with enthusiasm for the song they had been practicing all day and he had bribed Steve into coming in and helping him get the track down. It should have been easy, but the only trouble was that whilst the lead singer might have talent, the rest of the band were merely average.

Used to the tightly knit way Cluinn played together and how they instinctively knew each others reactions, it was a shock to be listening to his music being so badly played. The drummer and bass could just about hold the line, but it was clear that the lead guitarist, Sev as Ellie called him, was full of his own self-importance and would not take any of the advice that Richard gave out, either as as gentle suggestion or a direct demand as he ended up doing.

After the twentieth take he gave up, too tired to do more then storm into the recording booth. "Get out," he ground out at the hapless teenager with his pants hanging out the top of his low slung jeans, seemingly held up by will power alone.

"What?" The gormless individual goggled at his expression. "But I, like I thought it sounded..."

"I will not have your butchering my music anymore," Phantom ground out, his brows drawn together in a menacing frown, highlighted by the black bisecting mask he wore on his face. "Now fuck off," he flicked his fingers towards the door, perfectly aware that he was cementing a reputation for being a hard task master, but if his name was to be involved in this music at all it had to be perfect and he didn't care who he had to make cry to get it that way. Yes, he was all for training with the stick, any gentleness had been reserved for Izzy alone.

He grabbed his guitar from the stand in the room, stuck the cans on his head and nodded at Ellie. "Take it from the top and we can get it down in one," he commanded, counting her in quietly. She launched into the song at exactly the right number of beats and Ric found himself playing along with ease, following her voice; echoing the phrase at times.

"That's a wrap," Steve's voice came over the speakers and Phantom grinned at him through the glass, noting the surprise in the engineer's voice. He had written the project off as a doomed failure before they even started. Ellie gave a whoop of delight and flung herself at Ric, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing him on the lips.

"Oh my god, that was so cool. So unbelievably fucking cool! Now, when we release it, we can say it features Phantom!" She gazed up into his eyes, a smile on her lips. "Thank you Richard," she said quietly a smile stretching her mouth. He shook his head slightly.

"Ellie," the word of warning was soft, but he still found himself smiling at her enthusiasm, his arms going around her body and holding her close, returning the kiss.

* * *

He hadn't intend for her to stay with him, didn't want her around, but somehow after that night she wouldn't take no for an answer and he was loathed to force the matter, enjoying her company and for the next three days was glued to his side, listening in on his recording, accompanying him back to the hotel, showing him her New York. He found himself growing fond of her, the lightening quick way she changed her emotions, easy to please or anger like a child, but with the desires of a woman.

For the first time since Izzy he enjoyed the companionship of another female, found her amusing company, desiring her presence. But he knew that he couldn't love her – no his heart was reserved for one person only. She pouted and cried when he refused to say the words, never able to utter them lightly. "No Ellie, I don't love you," he repeated patiently for the fourth time, a small smile peeping out of the corner of his mouth as he watch the tears trickling out of her eyes. He was use to this ruse of hers now, it seemed that she could turn them on and off at will, obviously a better actress then he had first given her credit for.

"But you do like me, don't you Richard?" she sniffed, speaking quietly. He could tell she liked the kudos of using his real name, careful to never speak it out loud or utter it in public. They were holed up in a cafe, steaming mugs of coffee and chocolate in front of them, enjoying a little privacy away from the studios.

"Of course I do you silly girl," he laughed lightly. "Listen Ellie, I would like to keep seeing you, I enjoy your company. As I said if you want to join us on tour, I don't mind." He shrugged away the prickle in his conscious that demanded to know where his morals had gone – he would enjoy sleeping with her on tour more like, it would be easier then chasing groupies anyway and her company would be a refreshing change from the pressure cooker of the tour bus.

"I go back to school next week," she pouted. "But I might fly out at the weekends if you still want me."

"Tell you what Ellie, how about this," Ric reached out across the table and enfolded her tiny hand in his grasp. "Why don't you accompany me to the Brits as my guest? Come to London with me in February?"

"Go as you date to the Brits in London, holy shit!" Her cry was ecstatic, her usual over the top reaction when he offered anything from a drink to the opportunity to attend the biggest European awards ceremony. Cluinn had been nominated for four of the prestigious statues and they had agreed to fly back for the night and play two of their songs live at the dinner, part of the entertainment.

As there was always a lot of room for artistic interpretation at the event, everyone trying to give the most memorable performance, EGA had gone all out on the budget for the show. They had involved the fans in the choice of songs to be played by making them vote on the website. The number of hits had caused it to overload and bought it down for a couple of hours. The resulting choice was overwhelming in favour of 'Light of Day' and 'Broken'. Ric had not been happy to hear the choice, wondering how he could sing it without Izzy, wondering if there was any chance she could be persuaded to come out of her self-enforced retirement. He doubted it. But now an opportunity presented itself.

"Tell you what, if it means that much to you – would you sing with me, perform 'Broken' at the Brits?" he said softly, leaning forward so their heads touched, closing his eyes, feeling like he was betraying Izzy's memory simply by asking this other woman in front of him, but as Ellie seemed to repeatedly say, why was he bothering?

"Yes," she breathed the answer, the air coming in a short punctuated gasp. "God Richard, yes, yes, yes!" She grasped his hand tightly, digging her fingernails into his skin, so he flinched. "I love you Phantom, really do – you are so amazing." He grimaced at her comment. Love – no he really didn't believe in that anymore and he definitely did not love this woman child opposite him. But he liked her and at this moment in his life, that seemed like a huge advantage. With a slight smile he leant over the sticky table and pressed his lips against hers.

"That's great sweetheart – let's go and call the rest of the group – tell them the good news."


	43. Chapter 43

**And what has been happening to Izzy all this time?**

Chapter 43

I ended up being confined to bed. I had been allowed out of hospital in December, stern warnings from the specialist about over doing it, which I promptly ignored in the hectic run-up to Christmas. Determined to do things right by my fiancé, I made a great show of buying and wrapping exceedingly generous presents for the various members of his family, enjoying having seemingly limitless funds on the credit card and people to buy for, determined to fit in with my new family.

Ralph embraced the Christmas season with gusto. Flat out at work due to the never ending parade of Christmas parties that trampled through the ballroom and event spaces of the hotel, he often compounded the exhaustion by finishing work and attending other functions around town, his circle of friends wide and varying. Thankfully due to the advice regarding my pregnancy he didn't expect me to attend. In fact he seemed to expect very little of me these days – we had even moved into separate bedrooms and on more then one occasion he had come back late at night, reeking of other women's perfume, lipstick and makeup smeared on his clothes.

Outwardly I remained happy and loving, holding onto his arm at the few events we attended together, calling him my fiancé when questioned about our relationship. In reality I was numb and could only managed to keep going through the day and put one foot in front of the other by wrapping myself in a shell, not paying any attention to the world around me or my partners blatant infidelity.

It wasn't made any easier as 'Light of Day' was being played on the radio every blasted hour of everyday on seemingly every station, a blatant reminder of just how happy I had been last Christmas – how much in love and there were a couple of terrible times that I nearly cracked, that I thought I couldn't go on.

The first was when I had been in HMV on Oxford Street, hunting down a DVD that Ralph had referred to idly in conversation, determined to get him a Christmas present that might evoke some sign of pleasure from him. The background music had been a medley of Christmas tunes, interspersed with music from the Cluinn album and that year's winner of the Popstar programme. Suddenly over the background noise I heard Richard's voice, talking about his inspiration behind the music, why he wrote such a beautiful tune and who had he chosen to star in the music video. My head had whipped from side to side as I trailed up and down the aisles looking for the source of the speaking, wondering if they were appearing as a public performance. A panicked five minutes later, I realised it was just a video being played over the televisions.

The second incident was worse as I truly thought I had become delusional with my pregnancy. Despite knowing that the band were performing in Northern England, moving their way to Scotland for the final week of concerts I saw Phantom in London, walking down the street. I was moving in the opposite direction and barely noticed the masked man who strode past me until he was a couple of feet away. I stood frozen to the spot for a second before turning and running after him, shouting his name and grabbing his arm. It was only as he turned with a gasp that I realised I had been chasing someone who was either in fancy dress, or an ardent fan. There was no way this was Richard, he was shorter and broader – if I had been paying attention I would have clocked it straight away. Both incidents left me shaken enough to go home, shut myself in the bedroom and weep big fat tears of sorrow.

The invitation to join the band in Edinburgh was almost more then I could bear. At twenty-eight weeks pregnant and with blood pressure that was not behaving I was not allowed to fly, but found myself desperately considering the possibility of catching a train for the six hour journey. In my heart of hearts I knew it would be impossible – too close to Christmas, too late in the year and what would Ric say if he saw me standing at the edge of the stage like a barge in full sail?

Instead I satisfied any craving to contact him by buying an elaborate hamper from a deli in Edinburgh and had it delivered to his Grandparents. I wanted Richard to know that I was thinking of him, even if I could not bring myself to end the pathetic charade of a relationship I carried out with Ralph and contact him. Instead I succumbed to my inner thoughts and four days before Christmas I found myself buying him a present, stupid and silly – the sort of thing Ralph would turn his nose up at, but the porcelain mug had the words 'I am the Phantom' blazoned across the side and I could imagine my former boyfriend enjoying the irony of drinking his copious cups of tea from such a cup. It was the silly sort of stocking filler a girlfriend gave a boyfriend. I wrapped and posted it before I could change my mind.

Instead my Christmas was a full socially formal affair. We went down to Ralph's parents for Christmas, staying in their large house for over a week, whilst the rooms below were filled with party after party for a variety of relations, friends and acquaintances. By New Year, I was absolutely exhausted, dried up of anymore small talk, never wanting to see a vol-a-vent in my life again. It had been a trying and lonely time, even though I had been surrounded by people; most of them asking about my pregnancy as if I had no other thought on my mind. Even all my Christmas presents had been baby clothes and related paraphernalia, except for Tatiana who gave me a beautiful summer dress. "Inspiration to get your figure back after the baby is born," she had said with a smile as I opened it and held it up, ruminating how it currently took two of them to cover me.

It was the second of January that I starting to feel nauseous again, the strange flickering lights at the edge of my vision returning. I was aware of the signals now and an emergency appointment with the doctor confirmed that my blood pressure had indeed risen again. She sat in her chair and fixed me with a stern look that clearly said she did not believe my lame utterances about not overdoing it. A visit to the specialist confirmed the same facts and he also looked att me with a serious expression, his words sobering. "Isabella, you can either carry on as you are and risk the chance of being rushed into hospital with pre-eclampsia meaning your baby may have to be delivered early or you can go to bed for the next three months and manage this. I would recommend the second; it is a lot less traumatic to both you and your child."

And so duly signed off work for the last ten weeks of my pregnancy I took to my bed, allowed up for a short while each day and told to do as little as possible. It took Ralph five whole days before he was bored of me and my needs, dispatching me down to his parents for the enforced lie-in, claiming I would be less lonely with his mother for company.

And so I spent most of January lying in the spare bed, looking out on the rain drenched landscape to the misty Surrey Hills beyond and tried to be positive. Annabel popped in and out during the day, bringing me books and magazines and Tatiana kindly came down every weekend, bursting with news about colleagues at work, the upcoming Brit awards that she was working on and anything else she could find to talk about. The one person whose absence was noticeable but uncommented on was the supposed father of the child that had confined me to bed. In the whole of that first four weeks he visited once, claiming he was far too busy.

* * *

It was at the end of January that Tatiana placed a file of paper on my lap. I was propped up on pillows, idly watching a game show on television. Her position blocked my view of the television and I moved slightly so I could carry on watching. "Izzy," she questioned at my behaviour, grabbing the remote control from the side of the bed and turning off the offending programme. "You will rot your brain with that crap. Don't you want to see what I have for you there?"

"A life," I replied dully. "A mystical adventure to go on that will take me far away from this boredom. Is it possible to die from ennui?"

"Don't know," she replied briskly, not letting me get a foothold on my misery, but once again handing me the folder. Now have a look in there!" At her gentle bullying I opened the cardboard and scanned the first page, letting out a gasp as I did.

"Tatty, these are the Brit nominations!" I said with surprise and wonder, before narrowing my eyes at her and stating suspiciously. "But, they aren't announced until tomorrow!"

"Exactly, but muggins here has access to them this evening – eyes only obviously and I thought as an employee of the company I would share them with you. It's not like you can do much with them anyway." I nodded in agreement, scanning my eyes over the list, looking for only one name amongst all those printed. Tatiana saw the speed with which I was reading. "Four," she added as I turned the page. "Cluinn have been nominated for four. Best Newcomer, best Breakthrough Act, Best Single and Album of the Year. Hotly tipped to win at least two."

"Shit," I replied, putting the paper down on my lap and drawing my knees up to my chest. "That is amazing given that they have been around, what ten months?"

"You should know," she replied slightly tartly. "You were there at the beginning. Anyway, the nominations are announced at nine am tomorrow morning, so keep it quiet until then okay, as I could get into a whole load of trouble. I just wanted to make you smile again. Mum says you've been really down." She pushed the file aside, sitting next to me and putting a sisterly arm around my shoulders in a hug.

"It's not exactly the most inspiring thing to be doing Tat," I replied honestly. "I feel so isolated – don't even have access to a computer down here and can't get my phone to sync with work anymore."

"They've closed your account down," she sighed. "The stupid IT department deleted it rather then transferring, which is why you can't connect. They have only just managed to get all your incoming pinged over to Jenny's mailbox. I got her to print out anything that looked personal and it's in that file as well..." She paused. "Do you want a laptop to use? Hasn't Ralph bought one down for you?" She drew back slightly sitting upright.

"Yeah right, the one time he came to see me?" My voice was sarcastic, although I felt guilty being so rude about one sibling to the other – it was Tatiana's fault her brother was such an insensitive bore.

"What? Oh god Izzy that's crap. He told me that he's coming down every Friday and sometimes during the week as well? Are you sure?" She looked surprised and worried at the same time, possibly concerned that she had just dumped her brother in a very big pile of mess. I shook my head reluctantly.

"Ask your mother," I said flatly. "If he is coming down he sure as hell isn't coming up to this room. Sorry Tatty, but he couldn't care less – he's probably out on the razz. I don't think he wants to be a father." I added the final words sadly, knowing that they were true, trying to stop the tears that appeared at the corner of my eyes from running down my cheeks.

"Izzy," she flung her arms around me again and I felt the wetness on her cheek as we pressed together, sniffing in unison. I may not have gained a father for my baby, but I sure as hell had a good friend. "And it's my entire fault for encouraging you to tell him," she sniffed as we parted again. "I feel so silly; at least you could have done something else with your life. But don't worry, Dad won't let him get away without paying maintenance if you don't want to stay with him, I'm sure, he will make sure that Ralph supports you and helps." She breathlessly continued, always trying to find a positive side to any problem.

She stayed a full hour, chatting and laughing, trying to keep me from sinking into the doldrums, resolutely refusing to mention her brother anymore. I knew that I had to find a way out of this mess now, come clean with the truth. After that night, I decided Tatiana would be my best ally.

She left with promises to come back at the weekend with a computer for me and an upgraded television instead of the small box I had been left with, I idly turned my attention to the folder of e-mails she had printed it off. It seemed so stupid in this age of technology that I was left with such an old fashioned form of communication, but my hasty bedding had meant I had been unprepared. I had to hand my work laptop in when I was signed off on sick leave and despite having a Blackberry to work with, the inefficiency of our company IT department meant that I hadn't had access to e-mails for the past month and was worried that maybe Ric had been trying to get in touch.

I flicked through the small wedge of paper someone had clipped together, obviously anything that they had deemed personal in nature. A couple from Angus wishing me Merry Christmas and complaining about the website in his typical fashion, another from Mags who was full of the joys of her latest boyfriend, claiming he was 'the one'. Two or so from old work colleagues, one from Alanya and at the bottom of the pile (trouble with filing alphabetically by surname) was Richard Stewart. I lingered over them, rereading the words and trying to make the brief sentences last as I took in what he had written.

_Dear Izzy, thanks for the great present – loved the irony. Where did you get it from as all the boys will want one? Hope you are doing okay and having a good Christmas. I've been at my Grandparents recovering from a heavy dose of Flu which knocked me for six, but back up and fighting. Off to Jim's in a day or so for Hogmanay and to have a bit of a jam. Speak soon and Happy New Year. All the best. Ric xox_

I frowned at the words, kind and chatty, much like the note he had left me at hospital. I didn't know if I should be encouraged by such words or not. There was little emotion in them apart from a general friendliness and it was impossible to read between the lines. I wanted reams about how much he loved me and missed me – the brief sentences did not tell me that. Instead I turned my attention to the next piece of paper. The message was even briefer, probably thought I was ignoring him, which I had done in the past.

_Hi Izzy. Hope you got my last message, but thanks again, just in case. About to fly out to New York, at the airport now. We start recording and then we are on tour from end of January to end of April out there. Hate being on a tour bus, so please write to me and save me from beating up Jim. Let me know how you are doing. All the best. Ric xox_

I put the paper down, glancing at the date of the e-mail – three weeks ago, so he would be on tour now, criss-crossing the states for three months to try and make Cluinn as popular over there as it was here. He would be gone until after our baby was born! I dropped the paper and placed my hands on my increasingly swollen stomach, comforted by the kicks that sent ripples over the bump. I needed to reply to his messages, let him know that I was thinking of him – only trouble was that until I had access to a computer I had no way of doing so.

Despite her promises, Tatiana did not come with her promised present, instead she tried to emancipate a free one from the stores at work. "If they don't come up with the goods in another week I will buy one then," she promised. "But if I can get one for free that would be a better thing, wouldn't it?" I smiled at her economy, knowing it made sense, but desperate all the same for some form of access to e-mails and the internet. Quizzing Annabel, I had learnt that there was a computer in Peter's study, but it was not a laptop and she rarely used the machine – having little knowledge or desire to surf the internet.

Finally, only after January had merged into February and the month was halfway through, did my friend arrive with the promised goods. "Happy Valentine's Day," she dumped the large box next to me with a smile, watching as I clapped my hands with glee, stroking the desirable machine, pushing the piles of magazines and books that littered the bed out of the way. This was going to be my lifeline.

"You have no idea how grateful I am Tat," I grasped her hands, squeezing them with enthusiasm. "This makes me so happy!"

"Good," she smiled but it seemed strained and I realised that there was something else praying on her mind. She shifted more piles of clutter off the chair next to my bed and sat down, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown, her lips down turned. "Izzy, has my brother been down recently? Did he send you a Valentine's card or anything?" I shook my head mutely and shrugged my shoulders, unable to get angry or upset. I had long ago given up expecting anything from Ralph.

"No – although your mother did give me a heart shaped biscuit at teatime." I added with a smile, realising at the same time that this is what my life had shrunk to.

"Lying bastard!" She ground her teeth together, clearly not listening to my comments about the meals I received. At my curious expression she sighed and continued. "I bumped into him coming out of the florists yesterday with a huge bouquet, said he was going down to see you." Again I shook my head negatively, hadn't received any flowers. "What a total and utter shit!"

I let out a slight giggle, finding her vehemence amusing. I had long moved past the stage of getting upset by his actions and now just let Ralph's behaviour wash over me, gaining little from the news. The fact that he was outwardly wooing someone else was slightly sobering – but it still didn't move me to tears. I had shed enough of those the past few months.

"Aren't you angry?" Tatiana looked at me in astonishment, her eyebrows arched in surprise at my calm. I simply shrugged, easing opening the box to my new toy with a finger.

"No. Tatty he hasn't been faithful for months and I never loved him anyway. I thought I could, but realised quite quickly it wasn't going to work – why did you think I delayed our wedding?"

"Cold feet?" She looked at my nod. "So even back then you had known…"

"Had an inkling more like it, could tell that it wasn't going to work, you can't base a relationship on a physical attraction if there is nothing else supporting it." I smiled again, although this time it was more sober. "Why do you think most crushes fizzle out and die? You have to love someone with your mind and soul and body, that's when it works." I thought back to my previous relationship and how I love Ric with my entire being, letting out a sigh at the thought.

"And it doesn't bother you that you will have to be a single mother?" she asked warily. "I thought that is what scared you, it's what you've been saying all this time."

"Staying with a man who doesn't love me scares me even more Tatty to be honest with you. I will find a way around this, I will have to." I knew what my new solution was going to be – I would have to reveal the truth to Richard, bombard him with the news. I had heard the other day that the album had sold over two million copies, he would no longer be the penny pinching student I had supported – it was time to ask for some payback. And if I got him back in the process then that would be even better.

* * *

The trouble with having so much time on my hands meant I had a lot of possibility for introspection. It was possible to think too hard about things, especially when composing e-mails and messages and what I would once have bashed out on my keyboard took me a good half hour of pausing for thought. Therefore the e-mail to Richard, trying to communicate my feelings for him after a pause of six months of silence was difficult in the extreme and I went through many versions.

I originally went for supplicant and pleading in tone, saving the draft before rereading my words and erasing almost all of it, I needed to meet him on even ground and not let him have the upper hand. However the follow-up did not have the right manner either, sounding like I was tossing out favours to a pet. I wrote message after message and kept deleting them, not sure how to express my feelings.

It should have been easy, all I needed to say was that I was sorry for my silence, I had been thinking about his actions and I did love him and by the way I was about to go into labour with his child. The thought of telling him almost had me burying my head under the duvet cover and ignoring the blank screen with its flashing icon.

Finally after two days of false starts and badly worded letters, I managed to write something that seemed to fit what I was trying to say. I reread the words one last time.

_Dear Ric,_

_I suppose you thought I had fallen off the face of the planet, which is true in a technological sense as the IT department of my company managed to delete my e-mail account for the past month. I didn't realise as I am currently on a leave of absence due to less then perfect health, although please don't worry about me as I will be fine._

_I was hoping that we might be able to meet up soon. I know you are touring in the US, but wondering if you have any free hours when you come back for the Brits Ceremony (many congrats by the way). I am afraid that I no longer live in London and due to how I feel have to ask if you can come down and see me in Surrey. I realise that this is a lot to request, but I do want to see you and think we need to talk rather urgently._

_If you can meet me please let me know, I am still on my mobile number and this new e-mail address. With love and best wishes Izzy xox_

I was pleased with the final tone, demanding but not overly so, dramatic enough to get his curiosity up so that he would hopefully hack out to this country village, but not worrying enough to cause him vast amounts of angst. I save the version in my drafts, determined to find out from Tatiana when Cluinn would be in England again.

She replied, letting me know that they had flown in that morning, the award ceremony was tomorrow night and then they would be flying out the day after. A very tight turn around on his part that did not leave me much time to send the e-mail if I expected an appropriate response from Richard. I reread the words, typed his e-mail address in at the top and hit the send button, holding my breath. It went whizzing off into cyberspace and disappeared, leaving me with a furiously beating heart, my gaze flickering between my phone and the computer screen.

The reply came back almost instantaneously, the contact was not known, the mail had been returned and I stared at the words in desperation. I could not understand why it did not work, knowing the address off by heart, having used it so many times over the months we lived together. I hadn't mistyped the name or put a comma in rather then a dot, in fact there seemed to be no reason for my carefully crafted words to have been sent back to me.

Feeling deflated, I lay and chewed my lip for a while, before realising that he was at least in the UK and that meant he was hopefully on his phone – I would not be contacting him in the middle of the night or during a concert or any of the other potentially embarrassing scenarios I had imagined. In fact as it was early afternoon it was a very good time to make a call.

His number was still programmed into my phone, his photo still present against his profile. My fingers trembled as I hit the button on the screen, putting my mobile to my ear and listening to the droning ring. "Hello?" The voice that answered made me hesitate. It wasn't Richard's; in fact it wasn't even male. Instead it was female and sounded quite young; a noticeable American accent marked the vowels.

"Um, hello." In contrast my voice came out correctly British. "I was hoping to speak to Richard Stewart?" My mind was spinning and I could find no reason that he was not answering his personal line.

"No, sorry, he's not here. Wanna' leave a message?" The voice sounded bored, almost insolent and I ground my teeth slightly. I didn't want this rude girl to pass on anything from me. And then in the background I heard a voice, too faint and muffled to make out individual words but the tone and accent identifiable as Richard, he was obviously around.

"Are you sure he's not there?" I persisted, desperate to speak to him, not wanting to pass up the opportunity.

"Sure, now do you want to leave a message?" I think she might have been chewing gum as she spoke.

"Can you just tell him Isabella called and would he phone me on this number please?"

"Right," the voice sounded slightly shocked, a touch strained if I wanted to read anything into it. There was a slight pause. "I will pass that message on, thanks for calling." And the line went dead, leaving me frowning at the mobile in my hand, wondering who I had just spoken to – must have been one of the many people that bands seem to collect. Even before they started touring seriously, Cluinn had started to gather quite an entourage around them. I decided to give him twenty-four hours and then try again – I was determined.

It was the same voice on the end of the line the next day as well, similar in tone, disinterested, almost bored and when I repeated my name and the request for Ric to return the call I actually heard her sigh down the line. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?" I demanded, disliking her impertinent phone manner. "Are you his PA or something?"

"Sorry, PA?" She laughed shortly. "No honey, I'm his girlfriend, Ellie." There was a triumphant silence. "Do you still want me to tell him you called?" Sweetness and light marked the tone of voice now.

"N-n-no," I stuttered, feeling as if I had taken a blow to my solar plexus, all the air in my lungs squeezed out and I gasped for breath. Girlfriend, no, there was no way that Richard would betray me so, hand me over and ignore me. But then, I had caught him with his trousers down accepting a blow job from a groupie, the voice inside my head preached. In the turbulent few months that had passed since that incident, I had played the event down in my mind. Suddenly it was back at the top of the pile, open once again in all its glory.

I was shaken and upset, unable to comprehend the news that I had just received. Instead, I turned to the internet, searching for any news of the Phantom having a girlfriend, being in a relationship. There were no results to back up my search, no photographs or articles stating their combined happiness or horrific glossy magazine pictures of a couple at home (not that he had one as he still rented my flat). However several results did bring up the fact that the lead singer of a band called 'The Damned Delighted' had just released a single written by and featuring Phantom. The singer's name was a nineteen year old girl called Ellie van Holding.

* * *

The awards ceremony was shown on television twenty-four hours after it happened, apparently according to Tatiana who came and watched it with me, it was due to the fact that as so much of the content had to be cut, it was considered easier and safer to not show it live – some of what went on was unsuitable for public broadcast.

She had been in attendance as a member of the EGA team surrounding Cluinn, sitting at one of the many tables the company had taken, several feet away from the band members and their inner circle. Now, she sat next to me in the easy chair, with her legs curled up under her, a big box of chocolates between us as we observed the arrival of the guest on the red carpet, interviews taking place as the celebrities arrived to the sound of screaming fans, providing commentary on the different events.

I remained silent as the camera focused on the band getting out of the black limo with Alanya. The fever pitch screams of the crowd as they caught sight of their idols, the tall masked man who strode up the red carpet, wearing the most beautifully cut suit over a t-shirt, a black mask on his face and pointed boots on his feet, a black hat pulled down low over his face. He had filled out since we had last been together, his chest broader, although as narrow hipped and long legged as ever, slightly taller even then Jim so he had to bend over to speak to the petite broadcaster whose breasts were straining at the top of her dress. Alanya was as beautiful as ever, looking as stunning as any movie star on the red carpet in a sweeping dress. The whole band was carefully dressed to be smart with a rock attitude – a far cry from the way they used to lounge around my flat only a year ago.

"She is so beautiful," Tatiana pointed to the woman on the screen, as the camera focused on them walking into Earl's Court. "I mean she looks great there, but in the flesh – wow. Made me feel like a ten tonne blimp, I can tell you." I smiled; glad that Tat's reaction was similar to mine the first time I had met Laney.

"Did you get a chance to speak to her? She's really nice, not a stuck up model at all." Tatiana laughed.

"You kidding me, it is like a king and his court. There is a steel fence around those guys these days and you practically have to apply in triplicate to even look at them. No chance for a lowly PR person like me. Only bum kissers need bother!" I frowned at her comment – that didn't sound like Cluinn, not like the men I had known, they weren't so precious about life.

I patiently waited as the rest of the boring guests walked up the carpet and the presenter babbled on about the awards and their history. Finally we got to see the main ceremony itself, the packed dinner tables and the presenters announcing the awards. I felt my palms sweat as the nominations were announced for the main awards, and held my breath as the envelope was opened and the picture on the screen split to focus on the nominated groups. Phantom sat on the bottom corner of the picture, his eyes on the stage but his expression unreadable. I knew that look, the way he could turn in on himself and block any visible emotion – it was obviously useful in this situation.

They ended up winning three, Breakthrough Act, Best Single and Best Album – three out of four, only loosing out with Best Newcomer which went to a rap artist. They were magnanimous in their defeat though, the cameras focusing on them clapping as the winner reached the podium. And then, with a group of statues on the table the awards ceremony drawing to an end, they took to the stage for their performance.

The Brits had always been known for putting on different and unusual shows, demanding variation from the acts that had been chosen to perform. It seemed that Cluinn had taken up the gauntlet and I watched, nervously biting my lip at the darkened stage. The hum of music cast out over the audience did not sound like Cluinn, more sweeping strings and classical in nature – borrowed or a quick composition by Ric and Jim, I was unsure, but with it a young girl appeared in a smoke of dry ice.

Her hair was bound up on her head and she wore a flowing white gown that trailed on the floor as she walked trance like towards the large screen that was placed at the side of the stage. As the music built into a crescendo suddenly inside the surface a shadowy figure appeared, a cloak draped around his shoulders and he held a hand out, drawing the girl towards him through the mirror. The crowd burst into applause – there was no doubting that this performance was aping the famous stage show.

"So cool the way they took this off," Tatty murmured by my side. I watched slightly agog, knowing how much Ric hated any comparisons between his character and the Phantom of the Opera. And yet here he was consciously copying the actions, appearing again at the side of the stage, walking backwards and drawing the girl towards him with flowing movements as if she were in a trance, singing 'Broken' with her, singing my duet with another woman. He had changed his clothes and his costume reflected that of a tux, although with a deconstructed twist. He didn't play the guitar, but had been miked up with a handless amp, leaving his hands free. He used them to great effect running them around and over the woman on stage with him all the time pulling her into the centre where the rest of the band stood, playing their instruments, reaching up and flicking her hair loose. The same hands that used to move all over my body.

When they reached centre stage the music changed, the song merging into Light of Day and he gently pushed the woman over so she fell onto a crumpled heap of velvet in the middle of the floor, where she lay as if asleep. He paced around the figure, singing the words to their hit song. The applause as they finished was rapturous, the whole arena standing as one to clap the fantastic performance and the girl stood up from her prone position, taking a bow with the rest of the group, placing her arm around Ric.

"Whose that?" I asked, my gaze concentrating on the female clutching Richard's waist.

"Um, she's Ellie van Holding," Tatiana answered. "I think she's Phantom's girlfriend, not sure. I mean she was sitting next to him at dinner and was all over him, so I guess she is."

"When did she arrive on the scene?" I narrowed my eyes at the television, wishing the camera would focus in on this woman so I could see her features clearly.

"I don't know. She American, so I guess over there on tour. You know he doesn't ever give any information about his personal life away, but she flew into London with the group. I guess it figures, although she's a bit young don't you think?" I didn't reply because big fat tears were running silently down my cheeks as I gazed at the screen, the emotions hugely over whelming. "Izzy," Tatiana said gently noticing my emotional turmoil – Izzy don't sweetie!" She pulled me into an embrace and I lay in her arms sobbing my heart out.

"I l-l-loved him Tatty," I sobbed, unable to keep it a secret any longer – needing to confess the truth.

"Hush, I know Izzy, I guessed."

"You what?" I sat up slightly; surprised at her knowledge, unaware that she was privy to the facts. All these months of carrying on, lying and pretending and she had known?

"I knew you fancied him and I guess something happened between you two. Why else would you have come into work and demand to be taken off the Cluinn account? Did he not reciprocate? Is that why you ended up in Ralph's bed?" My spine straightened slightly, the frown on my forehead deepened as I realised she didn't know the truth, just thought she did – in the same way she had told Ric her version of the relationship between Ralph and myself.

"Sort of, more complicated though. Oh god Tatty, I miss him, I just want to see him and I am such a fat blimp at the moment and he has a girlfriend and...it's just a hopeless cause." I dissolved into a fresh wave of tears, leaving my friend awkwardly patting me on the back, unsure what to say.

"If you like, next time I see him I'll stand on his toes and slap him through the face if you want?" she offered, making me giggle through my misery.

* * *

Tatty must have spoken to her mother, for the next day Annabel came and sat down next to my bed. We had reached a passive truce and she kindly civil to me, sometimes even warm, but our conversations were brief and she usual only hovered in the doorway. I had sunk into the depths of despair and unlike the previous weeks when I had attempted to get up and shower, change my clothes, today I was still lying in the unmade bed, my hair unwashed and the pyjamas of yesterday on.

Instead I allowed myself to slob, eating the rest of the box of chocolates and watching the Brit awards performance on repeat – nothing like a good old fashioned bit of torture for a broken heart. "Isabella?" I looked up at the tone of her voice, slightly surprised for it was questioning and soft, not the usual clipped tones she spoke in. "Can I come in?" I nodded and watched as she came over to the chair next to my bed, again not a normal occurrence.

She brushed her skirt down, and sat daintily in the chair and next to her a felt like a huge unwashed beached whale with my crumb laden top and greasy locks. I pushed myself into more of a sitting position, my eyes briefly darting back to the television and Cluinn's performance before I remembered my few manners and paused the DVD.

"It looks like quite a show," she said quietly, her eyes too on the screen. "Tatiana told me it was quite an amazing event. A pity you couldn't have been there as well – I heard you worked hard on it."

"Yes," I nodded with a wry smile.

"And you were involved with this group as well?" she questioned again. I nodded, my eyes flicking back to the frozen figure of Phantom, his hands dancing in the air. "Since the very start, I believe."

"Before then. I knew them before then." The smile that flashed across my face was painful and I could feel the breathlessness in my lungs that usually accompanied a bout of tears. Why did she have to ask me these questions, make me relieve the pain of it all? Couldn't she just leave me alone so I could torture myself in peace?

"Ralph called us last night," Annabel changed topics with lightening speed, away from the potentially tearful scenario of my past at the same time as she gently pushed the 'off' button on the television remote. I had no choice but to turn and face her. "He has applied for job as Events Director with the Jumeirah Group in Dubai." She must have noticed my slightly blank expression for the name meant nothing to me. "They own the Burj al Arab, the large sail shaped hotel," she explained.

"Oh," my face cleared as I realised where she was referring to. "That's good news I guess."

"So, I take it you won't be going with him then?" The question was asked in a direct manner and I hesitated before answering, expecting her to be at the very least angry with me for failing to make her son do the respectable thing.

"I am not even suppose too be getting out of bed," I replied. "And the simple fact that he told you before me makes me realise that this is his escape route. No Annabel, it has been going wrong almost from the start – he tried to do the honourable thing and, well it didn't work – so now he is running away.

"In a typical fashion," his mother commented wryly, her eyes fixing on my stomach. "But the trouble is that you are still pregnant Isabella, you are due to have a baby in a few weeks, and you can't run away from that."

"I know," I stroked a loving hand over my stomach and as if my daughter could hear that we were talking about her, she responded with a kick that sent a ripple across my stomach. It caused both Annabel and I to smile. We were silent for a few minutes, just watching my stomach, seeing my skin flex and move, so tightly pulled across the swell of my belly, as the child inside me moved.

"Is Ralph really the father?" The question came so unexpectedly that I let out a gasp of shock, turning my face to the woman sitting next to me, who did not return the look, instead concentrating on my bump. "Please, Izzy, I don't mean to offend you, but I think you may have been _economical _with the truth and I just would be surprised if Ralph actually managed to father this child." I gapped like a goldfish for a few minutes as the oxygen flooded in and out my body in quick succession. I had never thought Annabel would be so astute, but then I had been sloppy recently, letting my emotions get the better of me, waving the flag for the Richard Stewart camp.

Her dark eyes observed me silently as I floundered, not quite sure what she would say next, what accusations might be levelled at me. I barely noticed as she handed me a glass of water with soft voiced instructions to drink and listen. I nodded and sipped from the glass.

"I was married when I was nineteen," she said conversationally to me, a heaving lump in a messy bed at her side. "It wasn't easy at all because I thought Peter was my knight in shinning armour, coming to rescue me from my very ordinary upbringing. My parents had aspirations but not much money and scraped together a good education for me. They thought he was marvellous as he was so sophisticated and wealthy. You know he is nine years older then me?"

"No," I regained my voice enough to croak the word out, listening with a quirked eyebrow and an open ear, this was not a story I had expected her to tell.

"Mmm, yes. It was fascinating going out with him as I had grown up in rural Kent, quite safely, but also in a naive way and suddenly here was this man who had travelled, knew his wines, understood how to get by in society, and had a life. I was charmed and thought I loved him, or thought I could at least grow to love him. Does that sound familiar at all?" I nodded, thinking how it echoed Ralph and me.

"And then as soon as we were married, I realised how many hours he worked and how little time he had for me. He had a flat in London, but not long after we got married we bought this place and he installed me in it, expecting me to redecorate and run the country house, whilst he worked in London during the week – like his boss and so many other men in the city. And there I was, a young girl with no experience or knowledge about how to go about things; suddenly living in this huge house with no one to talk to and not quite sure what I should do and I was lonely Izzy, so bloody lonely!"

The swear word alone made me look up. I had never heard Annabel Cheyne swear ever, not even when Ralph and I had broken our 'happy' news. It would have been as odd as if she had started dancing around to rock music. "I know that feeling," I whispered quietly, sharing a weak watery smile with her, amazed that we had something in common.

"Horrible isn't it? And of course the more isolated you become, the more you seek out the slightest drop of friendship. In my case it was with…," She paused. "It doesn't matter who it was with, but the thing was I sort companionship and he returned it and for a whole summer we were inseparable. He used to come over everyday during the week and most of the time we just walked and talked, gave each other company. Occasionally it led to other things."

"And..." I prompted, sure that she was leaving something unsaid. There must be a reason behind this story, apart from the desire to express a bit of solidarity.

"He left me pregnant," she said bluntly. "Took off to hitchhike around Europe and I never told him, never saw him again. At first I thought I might go mad and even considered getting rid of the baby, but I couldn't – could not because I loved the man and what he represented. Therefore I duped Peter, which wasn't very difficult and well..." she gave a delicate little shrug of her shoulder and became silent, leaving me to pick my jaw up off the bed where it had dropped.

"Are you saying Tatiana is not Peter's child?" My voice was incredulous. Annabel Cheyne, the most perfect wife, mother and hostess in the world had an affair and passed the resulting child off as her husband's. "Does anyone else know? Tatiana?"

"No, no, of course not. And I plead that you do not let anyone in on this secret. Tatiana may not be Peter's blood child, but he had raised her as if she was his and she knows no different. Do not tell either of them, it would devastate this family.

"And is Ralph?" I hesitantly asked.

"Oh yes, of course he is," the words came out flippantly. "Christmas baby, after a drinks party. Why do you think Tatiana and Ralph are such different people?" She paused again. "But the thing is Izzy; I can see so many parallels in your behaviour and mine. It takes one to know one, which is why I asked is the child you are carrying Ralph's baby or is it that man that was on the television?" She nodded her head towards the blank television screen.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sure that I was dreaming. This could not be happening, the mother of the man I had pretended was the father of my child, asking me if I was telling the truth because she didn't think so, because she had been in the same situation and hadn't. It felt unreal and if a troupe of ballet dancing elephants had paraded across the lawn at the same time, I would have accepted that more happily then what was going on in the bedroom, at least then I would have known I was asleep.

"His name is Richard Stewart," I spoke quietly. "He was my housemate first and then my boyfriend. I loved him desperately and I thought he loved me. But as he became famous, as his band grew in popularity things became more difficult. We argued as he thought Ralph and I were having an affair, except we weren't – unfortunately Tatty made it up and told him, I think she hoped we Ralph and I would get together."

"She values your friendship highly Isabella," Annabel commented.

"Well, either way we split up and I went and told Ralph he was the father as I was so angry and upset and..." The tears came and flowed down my cheeks unchecked. I fruitlessly tried to wipe them away. "Before I knew it, I was in too deep. I was lying to Ralph, lying to you and Peter, Tatiana, everyone. And I haven't told Richard that I am pregnant." I felt a gentle arm around my shoulder, held slightly ridged as if she wasn't used to giving comfort.

"Dear me Isabella, you have tangled yourself up haven't you?" The expected sigh came, followed by a brief smile. "But the main thing is you have this child growing inside you and as long as we can help support you then you can have a life, can still go on with things. Is this why you didn't want to marry Ralph?" I nodded meekly, ashamed at my actions, ashamed at misjudging this woman by my side who I had written off as vain and insipid.

"Yes, I knew it would be wrong. I didn't love him and he didn't love me and the longer I stayed with him, the more I knew that."

"Well bravo on that account, for it was a brave thing to do. I was surprised at his actions actually, it was the first thing that made me question the whole set up. He contracted mumps as a teenager and it left him with a very low sperm count – quite surprised to learn that he had fathered a child on a one night affair!" She smiled again and I realised how she had been silently storing information for the past eight months, watching and observing, possibly hoping that we could make something of the relationship. Suddenly I was grateful for her lack of meddling.

"What can I do then Annabel?" I asked, grateful to have an ally. "One reason I stayed as long as I did with Ralph is that I have no idea how I can support myself and my child when she is born. I own a flat, but I still need to work, earn a living? How am I supposed to do that?"

"Well, that is one reason I bought this conversation up Izzy," she said with a slight laugh. "When Ralph told us he was moving for work, I realised he was running away and leaving you in the lurch. His father and I are shocked by his behaviour because he should be responsible for you and this child, he took you on, and he can't just dump you because he gets bored. It is his usual spoilt way."

"Oh, well..." I couldn't believe Ralph's own mother was talking about him so harshly.

"Don't worry, Peter and I discussed it last night. We will rent you a small house in the village, let me play at being a de facto Grandmother, if not actually a real one and we can help you bring up your baby when she is born. If you want to get the real father involved, then that is your decision, but I don't want you to make anymore rash decisions based on desperation." She paused. "I hope that this helps Isabella. You are the daughter of people who were very precious to both Peter and I, your mother was a wonderful woman and I miss her a lot. Please, we are doing this for you and them, as well as cleaning up Ralph's mistakes." There was a sheen of moisture in her eyes as she spoke and she pulled a small lace handkerchief out of her sleeve, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. Please let us help you?" She repeated.

I didn't know what else to say – I was totally speechless and instead leant over and hugged the woman who had just offered me a lifeline. "Yes Annabel, thank you for your help. I accept."


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

My contractions started on the 16th April. I was unofficially two weeks overdue and heartily sick of being pregnant. As my blood pressure had thankfully remained stable since being confined to bed, I had been awarded the pleasure of being allowed to get up for an hour each day, in an attempt to regain my land legs and learn to move around the house again. It was exhausting.

But at the same time the joy of being able to go outside for a few minutes, feel the spring air on my face and watch the garden bloom again after the grey wet winter was a pleasure in itself. It almost felt as if I too were being reborn after the hibernation of my life. Annabel Cheyne true to her word turned into my greatest ally. She was still outwardly unemotional and tended not to reciprocate when I felt moved to hug her, but she quietly fought my corner and supported me.

Ralph came down to visit me two weeks after I had spoken with his mother, shuffling nervously from foot to foot as he stood at the end of the bed. I didn't love him, he explained, but that was all right as he didn't love me – in fact he loved someone else. It was hard to resist enquiring if that person was himself, I couldn't imagine him loving anyone more! He absolved me of trying to force him into wedlock (I raised my eyebrows at his turn of phrase) and he had agreed with his parents on a settlement to look after me and the child.

I chose to accept what he said, not wishing to cause an argument, just wishing to close the door on the unsatisfactory relationship that we had conjured between us. I wished him luck in Dubai and hoped that he would find success there. He returned my wishes and hoped that I would be happy and successful in my chosen path. We both said goodbye with little emotion on either behalf except relief.

I had asked Annabel what I should do about proclaiming the paternity of the child. I no longer had a need to continue with the deception that it was Ralph's and whilst I did not tell him, it was clear he was not going to accept any parental responsibility. Did I wish my child's birth certificate to say 'Father Unknown' or should I put Richard's name it into printing, in case one day, one day he might just speak to me?

I had managed to withdraw slightly from my emotions and, as Annabel had suggested, concentrate on my baby instead. After all that was the constant in my life and soon would take it over. I read every baby manual I could get my hands on, surfed the Internet for as much advice as I could find and believed myself to be an armchair expert in giving birth and raising children.

Therefore as the pain grew across my midriff and my breathing turned into the usual gasp and puffs that were recommended, I was more excited then scared. I already had my support group – Tatiana was to be my getaway driver, taking me up to London to hospital, accompanied by Annabel Cheyne. In some ways it was strange that these two women, who I had little connection to, were so keen to support me through the birth and subsequent weeks.

Ten hours after arriving at hospital and three after my contractions first started my daughter came into the world with one final push from me and a groan that could have been classified as a scream with the pain of being torn. I lay there exhausted and limp with the effort that had gone into the delivery, a broad smile on my face as they placed the baby on my chest, staring into her deep blue eyes in a daze, running my hand over the pale reddish fuzz that grew out of her head. She latched onto my boob and I watched as she suckled, in those few seconds falling as deeply in love with her as I once loved her father.

Annabel tactfully steered Tatiana out of the room, leaving me and the baby to be cleaned up and the official paperwork to be filled in. When the midwife asked me the name of the Father I paused. I had previously decided that I would put unknown on the certificate, cut Richard out of the loop, but looking at this baby in my arms I could not and swallowing the lump in my throat whispered. "Richard Ian Stewart."

"And her name?"

"Lara Frances," I replied, naming her for both her grandmothers, neither of who were on this earth to witness the happy event. There were tears in my eyes as I looked down on her, silently wishing that Richard was by my side.

* * *

I was in hospital for twenty-four hours before once again returning to Surrey and the safety of the room I had lived in for the past few months. It felt strange to no longer have the large bump in my way, to be able to get up and walk around whenever I felt like it. My blood pressure had returned to normal with Lara's arrival and I was once again in good health.

However none of the knowledge I had gained had prepared me for the overwhelming exhaustion of looking after a small child. She was apparently large and long for a newborn and seemed to feed almost constantly. I survived the nights by dozing next to her as she slept and fed by my side, reluctantly handing her over to either the housekeeper, Tatiana or Annabel to look after who hovered solicitously by my side in a never ending parade so I could grab a couple of hours of sleep during the day.

I sent photos to my ex-colleagues at work and to Angus, but made no effort to contact Richard, to let him know. I knew it was possible for Angus to break the news, or to send a letter to him through the record company, but something stopped me. After seeing him with the undelightful Ellie van Holding on his arm, I was more reluctant then ever to pass on the news.

The weeks sped by in a confused blur of feeding, nappy changing and tiredness. April turned into May somewhere on the way June crept in and then one night Lara decided to sleep the whole night through and I woke in the morning, realising that I had an unbroken nine hours. I could not describe the sheer bliss of uninterrupted shuteye for such a length of time.

However with the fact that my daughter was getting settled, that she was growing, meant I could no longer extend my stay in the Cheyne household. I had been a guest there for over six months and knew that it was time to once again branch out on my own, even if the thought did have me trembling on the two feet that needed to support both myself and my child.

It was time to move into the small house that Peter and Annabel Cheyne had rented for me as part of the settlement and support that had been agreed for their 'Grandchild'. It was only five miles away, in the small town of Haslemere, but having grown accustom to the support of the household, it seemed as isolated as could be. The day I moved in, Annabel had hugged me and left with the reassurance she would return tomorrow. I wandered the rooms in a daze. I had not been by myself now for over half a year, not had to run my own household and make my own decisions. When I had once been a confident house owner, now I once again felt adrift, it was similar to when my father had died and I had inherited his flat, then too I was unsure of the path I was to take in life, where I was to go. Once again I was on the cusp of such a decision, only for the sake of my daughter I had to keep fighting.

Tatiana came down most weekends, determined to play an active role in Lara's upbringing. Unable to confer the title of Aunt on her, instead I asked her (along with Mags) to be a Godmother and she embraced the role with gusto. We were sitting in the back garden one long summer evening, the sun setting over the grass, Lara lying on her stomach, lifting her head with a strong neck and causing me to swell with pride.

"She doesn't look like you, does she?" Tatty commented mildly, sipping her wine as she studied the small child.

"Babies don't though, they apparently are born to look like the father, encourages bonding." I quoted from one of the hundred websites that I had read from during my pregnancy.

"Doesn't look anything like Ralph either," she continued, her words the only acknowledgment that she had heard what I said. She was correct, at twelve weeks old Lara had her father's deep blue eyes, a determined red fuzz on the top of her head and long legs that meant that she had to wear babygrows for a bigger child then her age group.

I shrugged, unable to formulate a reply. I had made no mention about the paternity of my child, but as she grew, I knew that I would not be able to keep it secret any longer. There was no way this child was a Cheyne, but then she didn't resemble the Saunders family tree either. No this child was infused with her Scottish heritage, bought down through her father's family.

"But you know, she gave me a look the other day and I was taken aback slightly," Tatiana's monologue caused me to look up at her with a frown.

"Tatty, she's a baby, they don't look like anyone at the moment – resemblances don't really start until at least a year, as their faces harden off."

"Yeah, I know that, but it was just the shape of her eyes, the expression on them," my friend pressed, causing me to sigh. I should have known that she would not be fobbed off on this. Tatiana was tenacious when she got hold of an idea. She would not be letting it go. I sighed.

"Okay, who then? You will probably be wrong!" I sniggered slightly.

"Phantom." The word was stated defiantly, daring me to contradict what she had said, her gaze seeking and holding mine and I gulped under the scrutiny.

"I had better get Lara inside for her bath," I prevaricated, scooping her off the rug, ignoring her howls of protest as she clung to me, annoyed that I had removed her from the entertainment of a blade of grass. I strode quickly into the house, running the bath and preparing my child for her bedtime. Tatiana came and joined in, not mentioning the subject again. Instead, she leant against the doorframe, her eyes focused on me in silent disapproval. As soon as I had said goodnight to my daughter she pounced again.

"Did you know it's Glastonbury next weekend?" I turned in shock, when had it turned into July? I had once known all the festival dates, lived my life by their occurrence.

"Really! Oh well that will be fun to watch. Are you going?" She nodded in confirmation.

"Cluinn are headlining the Pyramid stage on Friday night, part of their world tour," she said innocently. "So, I've got to be there really. There are only in the country for the weekend before flying out to Madrid. You know they've released a new album."

"No!" I was shocked, how had life passed me by so thoroughly? The past three months had been a blur, but I hadn't realised quite how isolated I had become, how detached from everyday life. Tomorrow I would have to go and buy the album, listen to the music they had produced. Suddenly thinking about the band, thinking about Richard I could feel the tears pricking in the back of my eyes. I dashed them away and turned so that Tatiana couldn't see.

"The thing is, I feel I should go up and congratulate Phantom," my friend continued from behind me as I busied myself preparing supper, cracking some eggs into a bowl and beating them up.

"Why?" I tried to sound as if my heart wasn't racing, as if I were not on edge.

"On the new album, it's been at number one for the past few weeks."

"Oh, okay," I relaxed slightly, not contributing anymore to the conversation.

"And on becoming a Father," she added innocently. I spun around, the pans clattering with my clumsiness.

"What? You wouldn't would you Tatty? Promise me you won't do such a thing?"

"So he is Lara's father then?" She observed my reaction and I realised how cleverly she had spun the trap. She had never said she would congratulate him on being my child's parent. I let out a sigh of defeat and nodded my head.

"Makes sense really, after all you two flat shared." She observed her mouth in a wry smile.

"He was my boyfriend Tatty, he always was. We were in love; it just went wrong, very horribly wrong." I swallowed hard.

"What happened? Why have you never told him and got back together? You really were in love with him weren't you? I remember what a mess you were in at the end of August last year."

"Everything happened Tat. The band was formed, they started to get quite popular, famous even and I was shifted to the sidelines – Dev didn't like me, we didn't see eye to eye and Phantom was created who did not have a girlfriend. I was expendable."

"That man is a real wanker," Tatiana assured. "He get's so many people's backs up, so it doesn't surprise me. He was much better when he was just Eric St. John's assistant; ever since he became a manager in his own right he has become more and more insufferable.

"Well, he was only part of the problem. I felt as if I was being removed, subtly of course and then I fell pregnant, but didn't realise for a while and Ric and I argued – that was your fault by the way!" I threw in the slightly bitter comment.

"Hang on a sec," Tatiana held up her hand. "Firstly fill up my wine glass as my head is spinning, secondly what did you just say? You argued with him and it was my fault. What's his real name by the way as it is stupid to keep referring to him as Phantom?"

"Richard," I supplied the secret to her, not caring if she broke the rules – it was no longer my problem. "And yes, ages ago when we were at the Park Lane Hotel, you insinuated to him that I was with your brother." I watched as her face fell.

"Oh god yeah. Shit, you argued about that? I actually was hoping that he would introduce me to Angus, but he seemed so het up about where you were and what you were doing that I tried to reassure him you were happy. And I made things worse, oh bloody hell!" She took a large gulp from her glass. "But couples argue all the time. What forced you to try and lie and pass Ralph off as the father?"

"I caught him embracing the delights of being a rock star," the words came out laden with sarcasm and Tatty frowned, not understanding my meaning. "His pants down accepting a blow job off a groupie!" I expanded with graphic detail.

"But..." She started but I held up my hand, before turning back to the smoking pan on the hob, once again feeling the prick of tears in my eyes.

"No buts. Imagine how I felt – pregnant, unsure about my place in his life, we argued because he thought I was being unfaithful and then I caught him accepting the services of a fan, apparently not the first time. I panicked, I felt as if I had no where to turn and your brother offered me what I thought was a lifeline. By the time I realised that he simply did it out of sympathy and duty I was in too deep." I gave a choked sigh. "Real mess hey Tat. But I don't think Richard deserves to know, why should he?"

"Because you love him?" Tatiana was by my side in an instant, her arm wrapped around mine. "Because at the end of the day you want to be with him?" I sniffed slightly, trying to stop the flow of tears and shook my head.

"It was because he was becoming so famous that I hesitated to tell him. It wasn't a planned pregnancy at all, total accident in fact. I wasn't sure if it was fair to dump such a huge amount of responsibility on him." I finished beating the eggs I had cracked into the bowl and poured them into the frying pan, swirling them around and watching them set. Whilst I no longer had the time to indulge in cooking as I used to, the simple act of preparing my own food was a pleasure. I resolutely focused on cooking the omelette, not wanting to meet Tatiana's eyes, see the truth reflected back at me.

"Two wrongs don't make a right Izzy," she said gently as I prodded the omelette and slid it onto a plate, serving it between us at the small table in the kitchen. "He's messed up and you've messed up, but neither of you deserve to go through life thinking about each other and not knowing."

"How do you know he's thinking about me Tat? I don't think he is 'thinking' about me at all? He never bothers to call, doesn't come and visit, and doesn't even send me e-mails. That's not a person who cares and is thinking." I pulled a sarcastic smile and ate my supper. Tatiana remained silent for several minutes, seemingly satisfied with my answer, although I was sure it was different.

"Did you ever give him your new e-mail address? Your account has actually been deleted since you gave up work and he could just be sending messages into a big black hole."

"There is texting, or a phone call," I sighed and shook my head. There was no point in hoping anymore, I had quite given up and most of the time was fairly ambivalent about my decision. As long as I could remain in my happy little cocoon then I could cope – at least believed I could.

"Well, as long as you are happy," Tatiana adopted the same airy tone as I did, a wave of her hand dismissing the topic of no importance. I should have known that she rarely let anything go.

* * *

Despite my avowal to remain detached I still found myself strapping Lara into the buggy (highly reviewed and recommended, fully suspended) and walked the twenty minutes into the bustling town of Haslemere. There wasn't a vast choice of shops, but I was sure that the local supermarket would stock what I sort, in the form of the new Cluinn album.

It felt strange to be putting it into my basket – wrong somehow. I was no longer the correct demographic, mother with baby not teenager or woman out for a good time. The black cover, gothic script and graphics did not sit with the image of tired mother that I presented. I should have been buying a Popstar CD. Picking up a few odds and ends to make my purchase look more impulsive I raced back home, barely getting Lara strapped into her chair before pulling the wrapper off the jewel case and framing the box with trembling fingers.

'Catharsis' the title proclaimed, looking as if it were a tattoo on someone's arm. A sticker on the front already contained press quotes extolling the virtue of the band and the fact they were three times Brit winners. I pulled the leaflet out and flicked through, reminded of the pain this caused me last time I had looked at an album. The paper opened into a large poster, the band in mid performance, hair flying everywhere, sweat running off their bodies – it was a sexy and evocative image capturing the energy of their performances. And as it folded up into a smaller booklet, decorated with swirling designs, one of which I recognised as the tattoo on Ric's shoulder, I flicked my eyes over the words, searching for the credits that were always on every CD cover.

They thanked the fans for the incredible twelve month journey they had been on, credits to EGA, to their families, to Alanya and then in the last sentence the few words I hoped to find. "To Izzy, for providing the inspiration to write this album." I frowned at the sentence, flicking back to the single word title. Catharsis meant to release emotions, to move forward – Aristotle referred to it, if I remembered my English lectures correctly. To therefore be the muse of the album I must have meant that I provided the emotions that needed purging, it was Ric's message that he was moving on from our relationship.

I hesitated to play the music, glancing over at my daughter who had fallen asleep on the bouncy chair, long dark auburn lashes closed over her deep blue eyes, her auburn hair a pale fuzz against the pink of the rocker. For her then, for her I would do this. Taking my mobile out of the change bag, I texted a brief message to my former boyfriend. 'Inspiration for the CD? Do I get a share of the royalties?' It was sarcastic and stupid, but once again he managed to rile me and wind me up and I reacted automatically. I sent the message, flung my phone back into the depths of the infant carrier and continued on with my life.


	45. Chapter 45

**Sorry it has taken so long for this chapter - very rated M by the way - sex, drugs and rock n roll all the way. Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks. Pips**

Chapter 45

Waiting – it seemed to be an intricate part of his life these days. Waiting for the stage to be raised, waiting for a sound check, waiting for the concert to finish, waiting for interviews to start and sometimes when they were particularly awful, waiting; with desperation for them to finish. The trouble was he was still not anymore patient then he had ever been.

There was such a pattern and routine to the days of touring that he could close his eyes and map out the final conclusion of the hours - when he would fall into a dead slumber- before he had even started the day. Wake up, breakfast with the rest of the group and a meeting – either on or off the coach – some form of promotion from interviews to meet and greets, public appearances before rushing back to the arena or stage for a sound check and the performance in the evening.

It didn't matter if he was in the UK, America or any other country in the world; it was all more or less the same. Occasionally if they had a couple of rest days in between concerts he could slide off for a few hours – he loved wandering around the cities, soaking up the atmosphere and vibrancy – more so in Europe when there were often beautiful squares and cathedrals to wander around – some of which he had performed in as a choir boy. But it was more and more difficult as Cluinn cast their net wider and audiences all around the world were exposed to their music. The time to themselves was continually squeezed as another form of promotion was slid into the few hours spent not performing or travelling.

The past few months had also been made more difficult by the almost continuous presence of Ellie by his side. The band accepted her with a weary silence. Jim was usually blandly pleasant to her face, Sandy polite and kind, only Angus ignored her or was outwardly cold. The crew tended to appreciate her appearance more, often with wolf whistles and cat calls, to which she responded with her usual flirting.

The strange reception from the rest of the group always confused her, for she was so use to being feted, loved and spoilt wherever she went. More then once she had run crying to Ric about how horrible the other band members were, how they ignored her and did not appreciate that she was his girlfriend, wanting him to intervene and tell them off. In her confused childish view of the world where she had always been protected and spoilt, she could not understand when he refused.

Yet even with the cold shoulder she received from his friends, she still determinedly followed Cluinn around as they toured from one city of the USA to the next. He refused to take her back to Scotland as his date to Alanya and Jim's wedding, wanting at least a few moments of being himself and visiting his grandparents before they once again headed for the other side of the world where they picked up the tour in Australia. Even the newly married couple only had a few days of honeymoon before the whole debacle kicked off again. That had caused a tantrum of almost toddler proportions; it took her a whole night to calm down.

Yet Ellie still followed them, choosing to flunk her freshman year at college in favour of spending time with the group. He had given her a tongue lashing when he found out, a stream of articulate fury and reason, peppered with four letter words that left her looking bewildered and upset. Like so many she had assumed that as a rockstar he had no more then the most basic of education and did not see the need for tertiary education. It was Angus who informed her of the collection of letters Richard Stewart could string after his name if he wished.

But as April turned into May and May faded into June they left the Antipodeans, marking the leg of the tour down as a success and moved back towards home, stopping off in Hong Kong, Tokyo and Moscow before they headed back to Europe for the summer festivals. And now, only hours away from their set in Glastonbury there were in Athens, waiting once again, for a plane to fly them to England.

Phantom sat in the private lounge, head buried in a book, hunched shoulders and the most full faced mask he could find, glued to his features. His posture and appearance was as uninviting as possible – he was not in the mood for making small talk, communicating with anyone. Tired, he was so exhausted, the concert last night at Terra Vibe had been amazing, but like all the stops on this tour he had been granted no time to wander around, recoup and rest, but instead was shipped between interviews and public appearances. The most he was going to see of Athens was possibly the Acropolis as they took off from the airport.

Ellie sat next to him, her legs stretched out in front of her clad in the smallest pair of shorts possible. Her face was a picture of dissatisfaction, a frown puckering her mouth and wrinkling her youthful forehead. They had argued that morning as Ric had broken her assumption that she would be joining them on the stage at Glastonbury singing 'Broken' as she had at the Brits. In her mind, it was now her right to sing the song and in doing so she had privileges as a member of Cluinn, with the allowance to sit in on meetings and have her suggestions and comments put on the table with the rest of them.

The rest of the band had mutinied, complaining that she took too much for granted. The stress of touring was getting to them all and with another four months to go they couldn't afford to let a young woman mar their lines of communication and friendship. Fuck it, Ric found himself mentally swearing. He was fed up of her behaviour, the demands that she made and the scorn she poured on his likes and dislikes. She wrinkled her pretty little nose up if he wanted to listen to classical music; almost all of his reading material and the fact that he and Angus would rather share a quiet bottle of wine and a game of cards then go out on the lash every night.

It had caused him to pass on the words of the band with little empathy or dressing. His delivery had been harsh and heavy. "If you don't like it Ellie you can fuck off crying back to New York and Daddy. No one asked you to come on tour with us, you invited yourself." She had responded with her usual pleas, pouting and tears, although he had remained unmoved. Then she tried the next plan which was to crawl over to him, kiss his scarred cheek, working down to his lips and turn him on so that they would usually fall into a tangle of limbs on whatever horizontal surface was available. It hadn't worked that morning – instead he had pushed her off his lap and stood up, striding out the room, tossing over his shoulders a command to grow up.

Part of him had hoped that she would get the message then and there, fly back to the US from Athens, but she was persistent and stubborn and when the car had come to take them to the airport she had been waiting with her luggage and climbed into the interior, sitting next to him and snuggling up to his arm. He shot her a glance full of sharpened daggers, fed up that she either didn't understand his annoyance or was just too damn caught up in the whole frigging act of being the groupie girlfriend that she couldn't understand when enough was enough.

It was worse knowing that he was going to be back on UK soil. It had been the same in April during those few days of celebration in Scotland. All he wanted to do was go and hunt Izzy down for she seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. After the present at Christmas there had been nothing, no reply to his e-mails and no form of communication either through her work or his grandparents, despite several requests. He had been forced to change his e-mail address when the spam threatened to flood the account and even though he had texted her his new address, there had still been radio silence back.

Every unanswered message and ignored text made his heart drop a little more, his behaviour a little more angst ridden and sarcastic. He was going to end up a bitter drugged up old man if he wasn't careful. He had caught himself on more then one occasion wishing for the pleasant haze that he could get from a line of coke and had started smoking more hash then he knew was wise, anything to get away from the relentless monotony and pathetic existence of his heart.

He vaguely wondered if Izzy might be at Glastonbury. As this was their first performance in England for nearly half a year it was a great opportunity to touch base and make sure that they were still happy with the promotion going on. As 'Carthesis' was currently sitting in the top ten albums and had been there since it's release they weren't too worried – just needed to find the next smash hit for the public to grab on to. Maybe he should throw his weight around with the agency, demand that she be present, that he needed to have a meeting with her – there was power being the lead singer of a popular group, he had learnt over the months that sometimes reading the riot act was the only way to get things done. Not that it would impress her. But it might force her to communicate with him rather then this silly dance that they seemed to be captured in. Trouble was he didn't know the steps.

His phone beeped with a text message at the same time that the stewardess steped forward to let them know their plane was ready for boarding. He glanced down, there would be time before take off to check the messages – they weren't so strict about mobiles on a private jet as the commercial airlines. He smiled grimly to himself as he picked up his small carry on and moved to the door that led out onto the tarmac, a seasoned traveller. Heck, a year ago he had never even flown first class, now it was private jets almost all the way – there schedule was so hectic that trying to keep to timetabled flights was almost impossible.

Settling in the luxurious leather seat on the plane he flicked his mobile on again, thumbing up his messages, frowning at the unknown number. Who the hell was texting him? He was very careful about who he gave this number out to and wasn't used to receiving unsolicited calls. He read the message, shifting so violently in his seat that Ellie shot him a puzzled frown.

_Inspiration for the CD? Do I get a share of the royalties?_

There was only one person that message could be from, even reading the few words he could hear the sharpened tone of Izzy's voice – annoyed and angry at an assumption made on her behalf, her spine rigid, waiting to do battle with the perceived threat. But why the hell was she texting from another number? He thumbed a brief message back.

_Does this mean you're talking to me again? When did you change your number?_

He waited outwardly calm, grateful for the full faced masked he was wearing. For once it was useful to have something to hide behind. He didn't want Ellie to see his agitation. The reply came quickly.

_When did you change your e-mail address?_ Answer a question with a question, the spiky answer made him smile – he could imagine her spitting feathers and with a grin texted back again.

_Are you going to be at Glastonbury?_

_Ha bloody likely!_ The words came back straight away and his heart dropped slightly. He wrote a reply.

_Only in the UK for 48 hours. Want to see you. Would you come out to Spain or France_? There, he had made the invitation now he just needed a reply.

_No. Can't. You want to see me, you need to come here. _Damn, how stubborn and frustrating could one woman be! He ground his teeth slightly in anger and annoyance. Didn't she realise the demands made on his time.

_Not back in the UK until October at the earliest. _

_Have a nice life. Give Ellie all my best!_ The sarcasm dripped off the words she texted, the last sentence showing the reason for her annoyance. Yeah, kinda' upsetting to invite a married woman out to a concert when he had a girlfriend, but then again he was just trying to be friendly and establish the paths of communication. He didn't quite know what to say back to her, how could he reply to such scornful words?

_Hope to speak to you soon._ He didn't know what else to write, how else to explain to her. But at least he did have an understanding of what had gone wrong, why she had vanished into the ether – obviously she had left her current job, changed her mobile and her e-mail address. His messages had literally been disappearing into space. Coupled with the fact that his change of address had possibly not got through to her they had literally been missing each other – all the advantages of modern communication and neither had stayed in touch.

He was forced to turn off his phone for the flight and sat there, his fingers tapping out a rhythm, his mind far away from the woman next to him who was pushing her sulking into overtime. He replayed the scenarios of his relationship with Izzy over and over in his mind, attempting to reconcile his actions and emotions with what happened. He knew that he had treated her badly, contemptuously even. In some way he should be grateful for having Ellie in his life for it made him realise what it was like to be on the receiving end of such behaviour.

Four of hours of introspection later and he was feeling quite angry with himself. Reliving every argument and angry word, every moment when he could have turned and shown his thanks and gratitude and all the times when he should have put down what he was doing and paid her the attention she deserved, made him feel like a real bastard and not due to the situation of his birth. He left the plane with hunched shoulders and an invisible frown creasing his forehead, letting Ellie trail off behind him, too wrapped up in remembering the past to pay her the attention she demanded.

* * *

Glastonbury was the same as he remembered it the year before. A heaving sea of people, tents and noise clustered together on top of warm trampled grass. For once the English weather was playing ball and it was warm, hot even; so the dress code had changed from wellingtons and jeans to shorts, flipflops coupled with the smallest tops possible for girls and bare chested for the men . Instead of mud, a sea of dust sat a few feet above the grounds. It was frenetic, crowded, smelly and totally amazing.

They sat around the table on the lower deck of the bus, trying to ignore the noise coming in through the windows, attempting to talk through the set list, the set up and what they wanted to achieve on the opening night. As usual Pete ploughed on with suggestions, the band agreeing or rejecting decisions – it was all a matter of routine these days, they had honed the logistics of the concert down to perfection. If the tour of England had been the dress rehearsal, the USA tour had been a pre-run and the main performance of the world tour was proving to be a sell-out success.

Of course there were negative reviews – it was all part of the highs and lows of the life. There were fans out there disappointed with their second album, it was heavier, rockier and possibly lacked some of the more delicate love songs that peppered the first. However the hooks were greater, the anthems more crowd gathering and one critic had written that a broken heart seemed to only improve Phantom's skill at song writing. You couldn't please everyone.

The problem at a festival like Glastonbury was to keep everyone happy, make sure that there was a balance between the old and new songs. There was the continuous need to push the current music on new audiences, but at the same time the fact that it was their first album that had bought them such recognition, could not be ignored.

Therefore 'Light of Day' had to be performed – to not do so would almost be sacrilegious. Their other top ten hits needed a place and there was a couple of songs that had high download rates that should have an airing. "And Broken?" Pete asked as they ran down their set list. "Ellie told me she is singing it."

"Fucking little..." Ric nearly jumped out of his seat, his jaw clenched in anger. How dare she override what he had told her? He was seriously pissed off with her behaviour, highlighted by her immature approach since their argument. She had sulked and grumped for two days, seemingly going out of her way to anger him.

"Calm down," Angus' hand on his shoulder, pushing him back onto the sofa bought him to his senses. "If you don't want her to sing – it doesn't matter, we all agree with you." Ric glanced around the faces of his friends noting their slight nods and smiles. He knew the band tolerated her because of him, but he didn't realise quite how strained it was.

"No, s'pose not, but she goes on stage over my dead body – got it Pete!" He glared at their tour manager, who held up his hands with a smile.

"No skin off my arse. But do you want it on the set list?"

"Fuck!" The words came out as a sigh, as he rubbed his eyes through his domino mask – this was a problem. Since the Brits it was one of those songs that everyone wanted to hear, but it needed the right voice to go with it and he had relied on Ellie to provide that as she had usually been present. Now he needed to do some quick thinking. "Pass us that band list," he held out his hand and the wad of paper was shoved across the table to him. It was the most valuable document at the festival, containing the full listing of all the groups due to perform, when they were playing and where, details of their set-up times and all the other subsidiary information needed to make such a mammoth mix of bands a success. He flicked through the pages, taking in the list of who was playing, rejecting anyone with a big set such as theirs – it was too difficult to combine performances. "Pandora," he spoke out loud after a few minutes of study. "They supported when we toured the south-west. Bea, the lead singer, she was good."

"Yeah," Jim added in laconically. "Had a pretty good set of pipes on her if I remember rightly. So what? You want her to sing duet on 'Broken'?" Ric nodded in reply – anyone apart from Ellie. Of course if Izzy had been here, he would have pulled her onto stage, even if it would have been against her will, but according to her text. He shoved down memories of her, the concert a year ago when they had still been green naive performers, lucky to be on the Pyramid stage at all and then only by sheer luck, the skill of the marketing team at EGA and someone pulling out last minute. This year was different, they had been invited to headline, offered a substantial sum of money to put in an appearance and they need to make it a show to remember.

"Let's see if she's game." He pulled out his phone and dialled the contact number, and a brief five minutes later she had agreed. Of course she would – he was offering her a huge break. The grimace changed to a grin as he looked at his friends. "Sorted," he said as he shoved his hair off his face. God it was hot.

"Sing my angel of music," Jim mimicked sarcastically, "What the hell was that all about."

"She insisted I said it and if that's what it takes to get her up on stage..." He trailed off with a sigh. The whole Phantom of the Opera parallel was beginning to grate. The Brits performance had been a huge success and had a massive download rate off their website. It was such an obvious connection that EGA wanted to exploit it more. They were currently looking at using the idea as a storyboard for the next video, a contrast to the more basic show that went with their current song – all they had time for when they were touring.

"So are you going to go and break the news to Ellie then?" Angus enquired, his tone of voice mild, but a certain note underlying it. He did not like Ellie at all, complaining that she was vapid and stupid, dismissing her as a waste of space and not a suitable companion for his friend. Ric usually remained silent when Angus went off on one, not defending his young girlfriend, but at the same time not agreeing. Inwardly he knew his colleague was right, but sometimes being with someone was better than being alone and hey – what she could do in bed had been fantastic enough so he could ignore the less desirable facets of her behaviour.

But recently her demands and childish behaviour could not be outweighed by her skill between the sheets. The shine was beginning to tarnish and as his friends had predicted, once the initial attraction between them had faded there was nothing in common to keep them together. Shit, he was nine years her senior – his birthday was in October and he would be twenty-nine. He hadn't realised that when she had told him, back in January that she was nineteen, it had only been by a few days, her birthday only a week before Christmas.

He stood up, pushing his hair off his face again. Currently hanging between his shoulder blades it was hot and heavy in the warmth of the summer day. But he hadn't had a chance to do anything about it and hey – you couldn't headbang properly with short hair. "You seen her around at all?" he enquired of the team in front of him. She had been avoiding him ever since they had arrived at the festival, the silence on the way down enough for her to hopefully realise that her time as 'premier girlfriend' as she called herself was running out.

"I think she was hanging out with the crew, want me to call Chris and find out?" Sandy suggested. He had persuaded his brother to come on tour with them as his drum tech, trusting him over and above anyone else to set up his precious instruments and make sure they were tuned to his spec. It worked well, the only drawback being that one Paterson twin was bad, two was downright dangerous – they hunted together and few women were immune to their combined charms and love of partying.

"No, I'll go and hunt her down. Better go and find Bea and let her practice a bit first and then I'll have a wander," Ric flicked the suggestion off. There were still several hours to kill until they went on stage and he didn't fancy being cooped up in the bus for all of it. "Think I will go and watch some bands at the side of the Pyramid stage. Who's playing at the moment?" Jim responded by chucking the band listing at his head, Ric smiled sarcastically as he caught it. "Cheers."

After a satisfying rehearsal with his latest duet partner, he mooched around the vast site, exchanging greetings with various other band members he had become friendly with, listening in on various acts on the multiple stages, signing the odd autograph and having his photo taken when requested. He wasn't trying to be invisible or to blend in. Hey, it was Glasto, all about conspicuous presence and he had no need to try and remain under the radar as he had nothing in his life requiring privacy.

It was a huge contrast to the year before, when he had been a jumble of nerves, unsure about his strange new character, exhausted from trying to juggle a degree and the PR of the band. Not that he wasn't tired now, but it was a background weariness, not the bone wrenching exhaustion of last time, that hadn't been helped by the bout of food poisoning.

Interviews were no longer the knee shaking worry they had been either. He had met most of the journalists and DJs on the circuit, they knew who he was and what questions they could get away with. He had a proven track record and nowadays people wanted to talk about the music, rather then the stupid lines of questioning they use to follow. Cluinn had proved themselves with their wins at the Brits.

He spent a good three hours in an around the stage areas and never once caught sight of Ellie, which bemused him. She was usually not far from his side and even when she did wander, it was usually only to hang out with the crew who tended to be far more her age and intellect, appreciating her forward manner and little girl act. And yet when he glanced backstage at the manic setup, as hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of equipment, belonging to several different bands was unloaded and checked, he still could not locate her. Time was marching on and he began to worry, he needed to go over the lyrics with Marie and needed to break the news to his girlfriend that she would not be singing.

He grabbed a short cut through the vast arena behind the backstage, checking out Sandy's kit sitting on the drum riser, ready for action and tugged on the lock of the case containing his guitars, didn't want his precious instruments to go missing – that would be devastating. All was in order and except for a couple of guys checking the lighting rig, the rest of the crew were taking a well deserved break – no sign of Ellie at all. She wasn't answering her phone, wasn't at the backstage bar, or at the side of either the Pyramid or other stages and in the end he strode back to the bus, shaking his head in despair. There was no point hunting her down anymore then he had – she had obviously gone to ground, annoyed with the fact that he wouldn't play her game and give in to the demands she made of him.

It was shut up as he approached and he punched the code into the door. He could do with a shower and an hour to himself; the peace would be pleasant before the whole of the evening performance and partying took off. He wanted to remember this set. But his ears pricked up as he heard the soft murmur of voices upstairs, damn not alone after all – probably Sandy entertaining someone, he sure did get around. "Hello," he called out, the word a warning more then a greeting.

He didn't hear his friend's cheeky reply and it caused him to frown. He was used to Sandy's womanising ways and his friend had never showed embarrassment before. Usually the opposite, often happily holding a conversation from behind the flimsy barrier of a curtain, whilst he had a woman in his bunk. "Hello," he called out again, his ears sharpened to any sound of conversation, except there was nothing. Maybe he had imagined it, the noise might have come from outside, only all the windows were shut and the air conditioning was on, so it seemed unlikely.

Grabbing a drink from the fridge, he climbed the stairs, wondering who could be in their sleeping quarters, hoping he wasn't interrupting Angus from scoring – not fair at all. He stopped, amusement twisting his mouth into a wry smile as one long slim leg stuck out from the middle bunk. A smile which rapidly faded as he realised it was the bed that he had nabbed as his and the fact that the leg looked startlingly familiar. Two steps took him to standing beside the narrow shelf and he pushed the curtain aside, glaring down at the couple lying naked on the duvet – his supposed girlfriend and one of their crew members who he vaguely identified as a chap called Ben, second lighting technician.

Numbness flooded his body as he frowned down at them, unable to gather the thoughts that raced through his brain or find the words to articulate them. Outrage mingled with relief, anger with happiness, the emotions contrasting and cancelling. "S'cuse my language," he said mildly, taking a swig of his diet coke as he looked down at the naked couple who were trying to crawl under the covers they were lying on, not easy in such a confined space. "But what the hell are you doing in my bed? Apart from fucking that is?" His accent grew stronger with his emotions and his language caused Ellie to look at him, alarm on her face.

"I thought you were watching Evergreen," she squeaked, her embarrassment, causing her words to come out in a high pitch. "That's where Sandy said you were."

"I was looking for you amongst other things. Had to break the bad news that you were not going to sing on stage with us tonight, but you could probably guess that for yourself now, couldn't you sweetheart?" She nodded, a blush staining her cheeks and Ric found himself grimacing as he watched her. Shit, he really couldn't care less; she had fallen so far in his estimation and desire. Her actions had simply severed any lingering guilt or worry about her ability to handle it. She was a nineteen year old little slut as she had just proved. He was sure Ben wasn't the first crew member to receive her advances.

"Phantom," she whispered softly, the word causing him to train his gaze on her face. She had curled up into a ball, drawing her knees up to her chest, unable to sit up with the restrictive headroom.

"What Ellie?" He clipped the words out; bored of the charade, of pretending everything was fine and happy. There was no way he could turn a blind eye to this liaison and now just wanted the whole messy affair over with.

"I-I- I'm sorry." The words sounded heartfelt and young and for a moment he felt his heartstrings tug, before he hardened. No, this was her way, the little girl lost act – she knew exactly what she was doing – he had fallen into that trap once before.

"Tell you what Ellie," he said almost pleasantly. "As you like sharing a bed with Ben here, it is Ben isn't it?" He addressed the naked man lying next to her with his hands over his privates and two flaming red cheeks on his face as he nodded. "Well, you can go and bunk down with Ben in his tent or bus, or wherever he's staying and then tomorrow or at the end of Glastonbury you catch a flight home to Daddy and forget all about this. If you want some free advice try and resit your college year, get some extra credit, you aren't stupid but you would be to throw that course away. And Ben, you're a good tech so I'm not going to get cross, but if I catch you sticking your dick into my property again, you'll wish we had never crossed paths. Got it both of you?" The embarrassed couple nodded in unison, mumbling their agreement.

He pulled the curtain shut again and stumbled downstairs, his mind reeling. Moving to the back of the bus he collapsed onto the couch, pulling his mask off and massaging his face with his hands. The sight of his girlfriend and that boy in his bed had startled and shocked him and deep down, buried in the core of his body he felt a little part of him start to scream. He couldn't even keep a nineteen year old groupie by his side. There was the stumble of feet on the narrow staircase and the hiss of the door as it opened and shut again, but he kept his back to the view, not wanting to witness them leaving.

"Phantom," his spine went rigid as he heard her speak his name again. Obviously it had only been Ben leaving. He didn't turn around.

"Please Richard, look at me?" her voice was thick with tears and he sighed and moved slightly so she could see his face. He remained silent, not knowing what would happen if he spoke, he doubted he could remain as calm as he had been upstairs. The shock was wearing off and searing anger was coursing through his body replacing it. He ground his jaw slightly and glared at her. "For what it's worth," she said softly. "I'm sorry. It's it's been…" She didn't finish her sentence, instead breaking out into noisy sobs, genuine tears running down her cheeks, as oppose to the dainty moisture that normally fell from her eyes. "Please don't make me go home!"

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you shagged another man in my bed," he said fiercely, trying to keep his voice level and not shout. It wouldn't do to loose his temper.

"I was just cross with you; you haven't been acting fair lately. You've been ignoring me and…." She trailed off again, sniffing.

"Ellie, stop it!" At his command she stopped, wiping the tears out of her eyes, looking at him with a trembling lower lip. She was like a six year old child denied their favourite treat. "You haven't been wronged Eloise, you can't act like a total tart and not pay the consequences."

"But I thought rock and roll was all about free love and passion." Her head went up, jaw set.

"I don't buy into that – faithfulness and respect are much more important in a relationship." He met her gaze and held it, determined not to give in to her act as he had so many times before. She was more upset at being forced back into the bosom of her parents then the ending of their brief coupling.

"W-w-what about the songs you were writing for me?" She spoke the words quietly, but he still sat up with a jolt, shocked at her grabbing behaviour. She had coerced and seduced him into penning further music for 'The Damned Delighted' knowing that his talent far outweighed anything they could write themselves and he had obliged, setting down several songs in a rough format. It seemed that despite her behaviour, regardless what he had said to her, she was still demanding from him, still wanting.

"Do you really think you deserve them Eloise?" he breathed out heavily through his nostrils, teeth clenched in anger, grinding the words out. "Can you fucking tell me why I should repay your infidelity and lies with my music – you earn favours, not demand them."

"But?" Her face was such a picture of bewilderment that if he had not been the injured party he might have been amused.

"Go home, grow up and if you still want them in a year or so then give me a call." He shut his eyes, not wanting to look at her, not wanting to have to put up with her teary demands or sexual ways anymore. He had fallen far by taking up with her and now at rock bottom he didn't want to play the game anymore.

"You know you're problem, you're still in love with her," the words came out as a sneer causing his eyes to snap open again, trained on her face. "Isabella," she spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "She didn't deserve to hear from you again, her fault for leaving you and you keep moping after her like a love sick dog!" He remained silent for a minute, musing over what she had said.

"Maybe you're right," he said softly at last. "But that is _my_ problem Ellie, not yours. Now please, leave me in peace!" He roared the last words, fed up to the core with the very sight of her. Instead she bent down and grabbed his face between her hands, forcing her mouth against his, her narrow clever little tongue wriggling in between his lips. He wrenched himself backwards, shocked at her actions. "Fuck off!" He shouted. "Just get the fuck out of here – it is over Eloise, totally and utterly over!" He dropped his head into his hands, ignoring her sobs as she finally left the bus, leaving him alone with his rolling guilt.

* * *

The irony of it all was that the more worked up he was, seething with anger, crying with regret or even falling over with drunken passion – the better he played and performed. For some obscure reason, whenever life turned in on him he somehow found the focus to concentrate on the performance only. In contrast if he was bored and tired there was a certain automatic ritual to the proceedings and he would surf through the set, never letting it truly touch him.

That night at Glastonbury fell into the former. Buoyed up by the atmosphere, the shouting and screaming that carried through the campsite as darkness fell over the huge crowd gathered in front of the stage, stretching back further then the eye could see; he felt the energy flow through him. Ellie's departure and her revelation just helped him to focus. Yeah, he was still in love with Isabella, of course he was – he never denied it, but it was good to be able to admit it to someone, even if that was a jealous nineteen year old.

So as the lights and lasers flashed over the crowd and the drumbeat started, he walked calmly onto stage, playing the violin – a tongue in cheek piece he had written called 'Kilts and Whisky' the eerie noise and pounding beat causing the crowd to roar their appreciation as he put in an appearance. Handing his precious instrument over to a stage tech he put the strap of his guitar over his head and launched straight into the first song, not stopping until the heat had started to rise in his body and he felt the trickle of sweat roll down between his shoulder blades. Glancing over at the other members of the band, he could see that they wore similar grins, the energy and atmosphere of playing such a huge festival could not and had not been matched by any other concert.

Song after song was played out as the lasers scanned the masses in front of them, a cheering, screaming, singing mess. At one stage the lights picked them out as it rolled over in multicoloured waves, highlighting them as in almost perfect union they all jumped up and down, head banging to the music. Just as the atmosphere reached fever pitch, the band tuned down and launched into 'Broken' and the cheering changed to screams of delight as the lead singer from Pandora joined them on stage. Unlike Ellie, she sung it deeply with guts, putting energy and emotion into the performance, melding the song into her style and Ric was pleased with the result, different from Izzy, but at the same time not losing the emotion of the music or the meaning of the words. The crowd agreed showing their appreciation.

The sixty minute set overran by half an hour, the audience not letting them go, demanding encore after encore, until they were playing music from so far in their back catalogue that Richard could barely remember when he wrote it. But finally, after a long drawn out finish they plunged the stage into darkness – the concert was over, the band exhausted with the effort and emotion that had gone into the performance.

But even still the energy buzzed backstage, as the various crew members swarmed around them removing instruments, handing out towels and taking away microphones and amps. The usual crowd of back stage hangers on clapped and cheered as they moved away from the stage, the sound almost lost in the deafening roar from front of house. Phantom scanned his eyes over the crowd, a smile playing around his lips – the adrenalin running through his body as the sweat dripped off.

He was going to the bar, chill out for a bit and have a drink – enjoy not having Ellie hanging off his arm – he wondered if she had packed her bags and gone home, or if she had chosen to slum it with Ben and the rest of the crew – he doubted it. Another quick survey of the crowds, check she wasn't amongst them when his eyes fell on another face he recognised. It was possible that because she was the only one not smiling and talking, she wasn't clapping her hands or cheering, wolf whistling, chatting to her neighbour or participating in anything that the people jostling around her were involved in, he noticed her more. Instead she stared directly at him, a frown puckering her forehead, her lips pulled into a thoughtful pout and her line of vision moved as he did. She was staring at him and it was with displeasure.

He ground to a halt, so that Sandy nearly walked into his back, meeting her gaze with his, eyes narrowed in a challenge behind his mask. He lifted his arm and beckoned her over with a lazy flick of his fingers, head canted to one side, brow furrowed in curiosity. Her frown deepened, but she climbed down off the balcony that stood at the side of the stage and approached him. "Phantom," she said meeting his eyes directly, no glancing down or blushing, not anymore – whatever enchantment there had been it had definitely worn off.

"Tatiana Cheyne," he drawled slightly in reply. "What are you doing here?" She shrugged. "Same as everyone else and as I do your PR you should be glad that I am here and not neglecting my clients!"

"Well said." He could hear the frostiness that dripped off her words and wondered what he had done to deserve such direct coldness. "But ," he glanced over his shoulder at the people milling around, obviously waiting for the band to make a move, "we are causing a traffic jam here, so walk with me, I want to ask you a couple of things." She seemed reluctant to comply with his request, but with a glance back at the crowd and the patient queue that was forming behind them moved off, keeping a distance from him, her hands in balled fists at her side, a frown still riding her forehead.

They moved off away from the stage, Sandy not bothering to change and heading directly for the bar, Alanya linking her arms with Jim and drawing him to one side and Angus stopping to chat to another band. In a few moments they were alone, caught between the halogen pools of light that flooded the arena, so they were in a path of semi-gloom. Amidst all the chaos and noise of backstage it was a small oasis of peace.

"I just wanted to ask if you'd heard from Izzy and your brother at all, wondered how they were doing?" He asked directly, not willing to beat around the bush – after all Tatiana had acted as an intermediary before.

"My brother is fine, he's out in Saudi Arabia," she replied, her voice slightly puzzled as her gaze ran up and down his tall frame, the shadows elongating it.

"Isabella is in Saudi Arabia?" The shock echoed through his voice. It was one country he could not place her in.

"Nooo," she drew the vowel out, her words slow as if her were stupid. "My brother is in Saudi Arabia, Izzy is still here in England."

"But I thought they were together?"

"They didn't get married. Split up completely." The voice was flat as her eyes once again flicked over him. He couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice as he grabbed her upper arms, joy flooding through his body.

"They aren't married! Oh god that is so good..." He must have put more pressure on her slight frame then he realised because she flinched.

"Can you get your hands off me please..." She paused and looked at his face before adding sotto voice," Richard." Hearing his name gave him enough of a shock that he let them drop to his side, taking a step back.

"Guess you've been speaking to her then," he felt the good mood evaporate. Her general demeanour couple with the use of his name suggested that Izzy had been talking and it hadn't been positive.

"Oh yeah," he detected bitterness in her tone. "Talk to her a lot." She stressed the last two words, her eyebrows lowered in displeasure, face drawn in with protective anger. "I know it all – Richard Stewart." He gave a weak smile in reply, not sure how to respond in the face of such anger – it reminded him of a wild animal trying to protect their litter. The show of bravado was her way of protecting Izzy.

He laughed slightly, half amused by the sight of this little terrier of a girl, half desperate to extract the information he was desperate to know. "Where is she Tatiana, where is she living – I want to see her. Can you tell me?" She mutely shook her head.

"No, it's not my right to let you know. You contact her and ask – she will tell you if she wants to see you. But just remember you cannot fuck off for over a year and not bother to speak to her or contact her and then suddenly expect to waltz back into her life, it doesn't work like that – she isn't just some groupie who will fall at your feet – remember that!" And with the warning ringing in his ears, she pivoted on her heel and went to march off. He caught her with one long arm.

"Did Izzy tell you to say that?"

"No, that comes from me, as does this!" She stood on his toe, her pointed stiletto shoe digging into the top of his foot, so that he let out a yelp of pain and pushed her away.

"What the fuck was that for you weird woman?" His voice was loud in contrast to the quiet conversation they had been having.

"For being an arsehole, that's what," she replied, standing a short distance away, her chest heaving with anger, a light throwing her body into silhouette. "For hurting my closest and best friend, for making her cry – again and again. It's your entire fault, even though she won't put the blame on you – it is and frankly I don't think you deserve her, never did. Tell you what; I would be glad if you proved me wrong – really glad, but I am dammed if I let you hurt her again." She cast one last glance over him and turned around again, storming off. He didn't stop her again.

It was a brief conversation, but sobering. Suddenly it didn't matter if only minutes ago thousands of people were screaming his name – it would seem the one person who he wanted, craved and desired didn't. As the adrenalin left, the doubt and despair came back – what was the point of it all, what was the fucking point? It didn't matter if every single groupie in the world had wet dreams about him, at the end of the day they were in lust with an image, not him as a person, not Richard Stewart. Maybe his Grandmother was right when she expressed her worry to him last Christmas, Phantom was eroding away at him and he was forgetting exactly who he was.

Suddenly the bar seemed too noisy, crowded and he couldn't handle the crowds. Slight problem as his presence there was expected – you couldn't play a set like he had and then disappear for the night. But the thought of being sociable, being witty and fun – it was more then he could handle. He knew there was only one way to cope with it all.

Ten minutes later he had scored, it wasn't difficult in a place like Glasto, the right word in the right ear and he had the small bag of white powder that he had sought. He may have lost the habit, but not the skill and in the port cabin loos he chopped himself a fat line, before rolling up a note from his wallet. He stared down at the cocaine on the porcelain of the loo seat and then leaning forward put the tube to his nose. One quick snort, the powder stinging his nose and making his eyes water and he fell back against the wall of the loo cubicle he was standing in – shit, he had forgotten how bloody strong it could be! But the sensation passed and suddenly he felt the tingling in his body, the rush of blood – better then any orgasm. Now, he could go out and party – now he could survive without Izzy!

* * *

He woke the next morning, his head pounding, mouth as dry as the Sahara. His legs felt heavy and sticky and through eyelids weighed down with sleep he noticed that he hadn't changed out of his stage costume – tight leather trousers and heavy boots were not the most comfortable thing to sleep in. His hair was a matted tangle around his head and a cautious sniff nearly made him wretch – it smelt as if someone had puked in it. Oh god, was it possible to feel anymore shit? A quick survey of his surroundings left him with an aching head and nausea, but at least the realisation that he was in his bunk in the tour bus.

"Your awake at last," the voice was level, unemotional and he moved his head slightly, wincing at the pounding it caused; to look Jim in the eyes, Angus standing next to him, a cup of coffee clutched in his hand.

"Yeah," his voice was croaky. "What's the time?"

"Eleven – we are leaving in half an hour for the airport." Same tone of voice, level, detached, in fact a lot like the adult lecturing tone of voice that Ric used on Jim when he was being annoying.

"Oh, okay – just think I'll sleep some more."

"No the fuck you won't," the words hissed out of Angus' mouth caused the other men to look at him, Richard with a degree of alarm – their bassist never spoke like that, mild mannered was his usual approach. "Get up, have a shower, tidy yourself up – go and apologise to the girl downstairs whose name I can't pronounce and then sit down and read these," he chucked a bunch of leaflets onto the duvet cover so they sat as a confetti around Ric's legs. He glanced down at them – they were all about drug abuse and misuse.

"Yeah," he said slowly, alarmed. As hard as he could try there was a big black hole where memories from the night before should have been. He had no idea what he had done after his conversation with Tatiana Cheyne.

"You drunk about seven pints, got off with about three women and then was sick all over the steps into the bus," Jim filled in the missing details, a slight hum of humour in his voice. Ric responded with a weak embarrassed smile. "Thing is Ric, if it was just the alcohol, then hey you would just be a wanker, but it was this wasn't it?" He held up the small sandwich bag that still contained a wrap of coke. "You left it hanging out your pocket you stupid idiot – it's still illegal you know, can't go around advertising it." He translated the curious quirk of Ric's eyebrow as he stared at the small foil paper sitting in the blue plastic.

"Oh, I don't really remember..." Richard shivered slightly at the thought, suddenly unsure of everything in the cold harsh light of day.

"Thing is," Jim continued staring at him. "You told me time and time again that you would never go back – that you had put it all behind you. You've sat on your moral high horse now for nearly ten years and shit, you dump one little girl friend and suddenly life is no longer worth living and you might as well give it all up! You ain't ever going to be a lawyer if you start up your habit again Ric. What is it that you always said to me, betraying your Grandmother's trust was it? You know your prophesising use to chaff, but at least you lived up to your morals, now you're just pathetic." He flung the bag onto the bunk and pushed past Angus, his shoes clattering on the steep narrow stairs to the lower deck.

"Angus," Ric croaked out, the panic of the come down suddenly flooding through his body.

"What Ric? What? I agree with Jim for once. Why did you do it? God, you are such a bloody fool!" He sighed and ran a hand through his head, shaking it slowly. "If you really felt that badly in need of a pick me up why didn't you come and find me, or talk about it. You have always maintained you wouldn't do serious drugs again – even your spliffs have got more frequent. Is it because we are touring? Because of Ellie? What?"

"I dumped Ellie yesterday, found her shagging lighting Ben in this bunk."

"You date a tart what do you expect?" Angus' voice was harsh.

"Izzy texted me as well, she's angry with me and oh god," he lifted his hands up and covered his face, realising he still had the mask glued on, it stunk of stale beer. He idly pried it off, parting his skin away from the dry glue, letting it drop to the floor at his side. "I've fucked things up Gus, really fucked things up. Should never have become a musician, should have stayed a lawyer, been sober been serious – been with Izzy. I realised yesterday when I caught Ellie at it, what it is like to watch someone you believe you have a relationship with, shagging someone else – can't describe it really, but for a moment I felt empathy with Izzy – could understand how she saw things."

"Every cloud has a silver lining," Angus spoke weakly – moving forward and grabbing the bag where it rested on the duvet cover. "But you aren't going to move on if you keep sticking this stuff in your system – won't be of any use to anyone either as a singer, musician or a lawyer. I'm gonna' flush it down the loo. Promise me you wouldn't do any more Ric – please, I'm asking you as a good mate and nothing else!"

"Yeah – okay – feel totally shit anyway, never want to do that again." He paused. "Just tell me one thing – did you know that Izzy had changed her phone number?" It was obviously not a question that Angus had been expecting for he started slightly.

"Um yes, back in February – she gave up her job and had to hand her phone back in – texted everyone and told them."

"I think Ellie might have been deleting some of my calls and texts," Ric spoke the thought that had come to him after his conversation with Tatiana. One of the last things Ellie said to me was that Izzy didn't deserve to hear from me and Tatiana Cheyne said I haven't contacted her, when I was sending her e-mails and messages – shit, like I said – I've fucked up."

"Yeah you have," Angus agreed soberly passing the cooling cup of coffee to his friend. "Starting in reverse order with last night! Now drink up, clean up – we have to be in Spain in a few hours and then you can maybe start to repair things – one step at a time." And with the parting few words he clapped Ric on the shoulder and left him with the cup of coffee, his thoughts and one hell of a hangover.


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter 46

I suppose I was lucky, for although fate hadn't granted me a great life, I had at least been blessed with a good child. Tentative forays into the confusing world of mother and baby activities, revealed a whole new side to child rearing, including the somewhat obsessive topic of having a 'well-behaved' child. I found it all slightly alarming and a bit sinister, the way in which some mothers seemed to fanatically focus on making sure their child slept, ate and played to an inflexible routine. However, Lara had slept through the night from only a few weeks and tended to be happy and contented. I am sure if I had been sent a fussy; winging baby, I told would become as neurotic as some of the other mothers with whom I had started to form friendships.

Mostly I embraced my new role as that of sole provider and career for my young child. She was the light of my life and I was happy to spend most of my waking hours dealing with her needs. However at the back of my mind was a big black cloud, that, try as I might, I could not ignore. I needed to get out and find myself a job, earn some money. Whilst I was not penniless, mainly down to the fact that my rent was paid by the generosity of the Annabel Cheyne and my daily living expenses by the rent I charged on my flat, it was a precarious position, relying too much on the whims of two sets of people, who could change their minds at anytime.

As far as I was aware, my flat had been empty for most of the year – Cluinn having been out on tour since last September, give or take a couple of weeks. Yet six hundred pounds landed in my bank account without fail and this was the amount of money that I lived on. So far, by careful management I had lived within my means, but it was rather hand to mouth and left with me with nothing extra at the end of each month, no savings for a rainy day. I needed a job, a career if I was to secure not only my present, but Lara's and my future as well.

The one person I knew I couldn't rely on was Lara's father. Absent for long periods of time with the band, it was obvious through his actions that he and I were drifting ever further apart. Apart from our texted argument, I had not heard from him in months and despite Tatiana's suggestion that he might have lost my mobile number, I tried to steel myself against the emotions that would occasionally well up.

I was a glutton for punishment however. Despite telling myself that I was getting over Richard, that I was no longer interested, my eyes still scanned the music magazines at the newsagents, looking for a mention of Cluinn on the front cover. I still played both of their CDs out of Lara's hearing and was resolutely glued to the sofa when their Glastonbury set was shown.

It felt strange to see them on that huge stage, to know that last year I was there myself. Their performance was much more honed and polished – each member of the band reacting off the other instinctively. Seeing Phantom play the violin made my heart miss a beat. Up until now his instrument of choice had been the guitar, occasionally the piano and keyboards, but the violin had been Richard's instrument alone. Like so many of his possessions it use to spend most of its time taking up room in my old flat, but every so often he would pull it out of the case, lovingly rubbing the wood with a soft cloth, putting rosin on the bow and tuning the strings, before playing me whatever I requested. It was always classical, soft and charming or lively and invigorating, but never part of his world of rock music. To see him use that lovely instrument on stage made me feel as if I had lost another bit of our shared past to the marketing behind the super group they had become.

But like many people in England I was stuck to the television for the whole hour, knowing that I was staying up long after my self-imposed bedtime of ten o'clock, entranced by the spectacle of the screen in front of me. The way the group played the crowd, Phantom very much the front man – confident in the role, unlike the early days. As always he was highly styled, tight leather trousers, biker boots and a ripped t-shirt. His look had been dark and moody that night, lots of black, accompanied by a half black mask, a t-shirt that seemed to be more ripped holes then fabric and his hair, no longer short, now long and dark flowing around his face and shoulders. He reached out to the crowds, reacted off them and fed it back tenfold. The emotions on his visible face were relayed out on huge screens that flanked the stage, showing the audience what the public at home were viewing on television.

I held by breath as they launched into 'Broken' tempted to stopped viewing, not wanting to see the girlfriend singing my song. It had been hellish enough watching the performance at the Brits; I didn't need to expose myself to such torture again. As the opening bars played I stood up, the first verse sung and I was standing in the door to the living room. As the bridge came in and I heard the cue I placed my hands over my ears, but my eyes still swivelled to the picture in the corner.

I let out a huge sigh of relief as a woman came on stage. Not the woman from the Brits at all, but older, hair in a short dark bob. She sung with confidence belting the words back at Phantom as he played the acoustic guitar. I didn't know who she was, but was relieved she wasn't the youthful slip of a girl that I had spoken to.

The knowledge that she wasn't performing gave me enough courage to watch the whole of the set. After a while I stopped looking at them as people I used to know, use to love and started to appreciate the talent on the stage, enjoying the show that they put on. It was a classy, well-honed performance. They deserved the accolades that were heaped upon them by the music industry and reviewers.

It was past eleven before my head finally hit the pillow, the music running through my head. Phantom had ended the show, ripping off his excuse for a top and chucking it out into the worked up crowd, his chest shiny with sweat, ripped with muscle that could only have been gained from working out in a gym, pumping weights. My dreams that night were twisted through with that image and I woke in the morning, confused and out of place – my imagination placing him next to me in the bed where he clearly wasn't.

* * *

Tatiana came down later that weekend, abnormally subdued, only Lara able to raise a smile from her pensive state. "What's the matter?" I finally questioned, having watched her mope around the garden for over an hour.

"Nothing," she said finally, shaking her head as if it would rid her of the bad mood that seemed to have settled over her. "Tired -too much partying at Glastonbury – forgot how frantic it can be as I didn't go last year." She yawned. "Oh, sleep deprivation is a cruel beast isn't it – I am exhausted."

"Tatty, promise me you won't become a mother anytime soon," I commented with a wayward smile, watching her eyes sink down – she was quite clearly tired. "But before you fall asleep out here, you gonna' tell me what it was like."

"What Glastonbury was like?" I nodded. "Or what the Cluinn performance was like?" I gave a weak smile. "Or what Phantom was like?" she continued; causing the smile to drop off my face and be replaced with a frown.

"Oh god, you didn't talk to him did you?"

"No, no – couldn't get close," she reassured quickly. "But he was in good shape, really on top of his game."

"And you didn't see him in the bar afterwards or anything. Was that Ellie girl there?"

"I didn't see either of them, but then I left straight after the show. Couldn't hang around, had to get back to London – too much to do what with everything else. Charlie seems to think that I superhuman and keeps dumping more work on me; more accounts and I just don't know if I can stretch myself any further. I was lucky to get an evening off to go down to Glasto." She gave a sigh. "Between you and me, I am getting totally pissed off with T&W! They may be at the top of the game, but if they keep taking on new clients and not retaining staff they won't be able to deliver at the same level for much longer. You know they haven't replaced you, just shared your accounts out between the rest of us."

"I know," I said quietly, picking Lara up from her lap where she had been snuffling against her Godmother's shirt. "The economic climate though, isn't that the problem?"

"Bollocks," she replied succinctly. "There are plenty of people out there willing to spend good money for decent PR, but Charlie just wants maximum income for minimum output and it's suckers like me, who've worked their way up through the company that stay there out of some sense of misguided loyalty. I am currently on my fifth assistant and this one is even dimmer then the last! She asked me the other day if we went on tour with the bands! Arrggh!" I let out a laugh at her yell of frustration, knowing only too well the difficulties of trying to run accounts without adequate support.

"Well, why don't you quit and we can set up our own company together," I teased lightly, lifting Lara high into my arms, causing her to squeal with delight as I sung to her. It wasn't a serious comment and I forgot it as soon as the words left my mouth.

"What did you say Izzy?" Tatty sat bolt upright in her chair, her stare trained on me as I played with my daughter.

"Um, I don't know," I was unsure what words she had grabbed on to. "Incey wincey spider climbed up the water spout?" I had no idea what she was talking about.

"The comment about setting up our own company. Are you serious? Is that something you would be interested in?"

"Oh god Tatty," I prevaricated. I should have known better then to casually mention it. The idea was something I thought about in the few seconds between closing my eyes and falling into a dead sleep. It was a lovely thought, but the practicalities of life far outweighed the dream. How was I supposed to find the funding and clients to start up a company? How could I leave Lara and go and work in London? "Maybe, possibly – I am not sure." In truth, my confidence had taken a real slip in the past few months. I might be an okay mother, but to re-enter the workplace, to handle the lives and careers of people and accept good money to promote them seemed a scary and sobering thought, far above my abilities.

"It could work you know – it could happen," she mused, her eyes lit up with a glow of inspiration. "Izzy, you are wonderful!" She bounced up from the chair she had been lolling in, all signs of her former exhaustion erased and bounded over, kissing me on the cheek and giving me a hug. "I will set up my own PR Company, why not and poach all of Charlie's best clients in the process. Wanna' join me?"

"Tatty!" I gave her a weak smile and nodded towards my daughter who was now nuzzled into my chest. "Life isn't that simple for me." I saw her face drop. "But that isn't a no either, although it isn't a yes." I was too unsure of my life to commit to her pipe dream idea, but at the same time it was appealing – under different circumstances, or if I was the Izzy of old I wouldn't have hesitated.

"Watch this space?"

"It's the best I can say at this moment. Let Lara get to six months – I might feel different by that stage. But I couldn't commute back up to London everyday – leave her in childcare." The panic started to well up from a pit as I even considered the possibility.

"You enjoy being buried in the sticks then?" My friend sniffed disdainfully. "Takes all sorts I s'pose. I come up in hives if I am down here for longer than a few days – allergic to the country you now. Anyway my dearest Iz, you have still given me a very very good idea." She smiled and held out her arms. "Now, give me some time with my goddaughter and you go and lie down – you look as exhausted as I feel!"

* * *

July was thankfully warm and dry and I was able to spend most of it outside with Lara. At fifteen weeks she was alert and happy, often looking at the world with her large blue eyes, which seemed to hold wisdom far beyond her brief age. Annabel decreed that I was handling motherhood wonderfully and with barely a pause for breath told me that she and Peter were going away to their villa in the South of France for a couple of weeks. Despite no invitation being offered, Tatiana decided to join them and tried to persuade me to come along as well, although I declined. I didn't wish to get too cosy with the Cheyne family – scared to overstrain their generosity.

As luck would have it, almost the day after my support team left, Lara decided to fuss and whine and not settle. After a horrific night where she woke repeatedly screaming and rubbing her cheek I took her to the doctors and an ear infection was diagnosed. Penicillin was duly prescribed and I soberly took her home, gave her the medicine and hoped that she would improve and let me get some more sleep. Unfortunately the pattern repeated itself for two more nights and by the third day I had huge empathy for those mothers whose children didn't sleep. It was sheer hell!

I dragged myself around the house, a ratty t-shirt and sweat pants on, the energy or will to get dressed in anything greater too much too handle. Every time she fed off me she ended up vomiting half of it back up and the drugs they had given her followed through with diarrhoea. Another trip to the doctors and it was decided that she had an allergy to the first medicine. Another was prescribed, I was told to try and get some sleep myself and duly ushered out again.

It was amazing how isolating Lara's illness was. Suddenly I was unable to go out to all the toddler groups and coffee mornings that I participated in. The daily support of seeing other people and getting out denied, I wandered around the house, my child in my arms, tired and overwrought due to lack of sleep. The smallest tasks seemed insurmountable and it was hard to find the energy to do much more then change my clothes and make sure the continuous pile of washing was fed through the machine.

She seemed a little more settled when I put her to bed that night, feeding peacefully and lying down in her sleeping bag. I dragged myself off to bed not long after and fell into a dead sleep, too exhausted to do anymore – a brief plea on my lips that she would sleep through. It was the middle of the night when the wail woke me. I fumbled around in the dark, mind foggy with sleep, exhaustion tied to my limbs trying to drag me back down into the cocoon I had been cradled in.

But as a mother, a part of me was unable to ignore the noise. Mentally alert within seconds, I groggily lifted myself from the bed and stumbled through to the nursery where she slept. She was lying there, crying, the smell alerting me to the fact that she had either been sick or ill. Putting on the light, I realised that she had pooed all over her sheets and I shook my head, tears leaking out of my eyes – I had no clean sleeping bags or cot linen left. She had been too ill in recent days and I had been lax in making sure it was clean and dry to use again. With fumbling movements weighed down by tiredness I changed her, carried her back to my bed and fed her before lying her down next to me – it was the last place left.

Of course as luck would have it, I could not get back to sleep. Despite being so exhausted I could barely move or have rational thought, my eyelids refused to close, pinging open every second, a buzzing noise running through my head. For the first time in months tears rolled down my face as I contemplated being unable to cope with my situation.

It was one o'clock in the morning and I felt so alone. I desperately needed to make contact with someone else, know that I wasn't as abandoned as I felt. Throughout my adult life when emotions had always threatened to overwhelm me I had a confident to turn to. After the death of my father, when nightmares haunted my sleep and I would wake shaking and crying, it was Anne that used to hold whispered conversations with me in the small hours of the morning. When boyfriends and jobs gave me angst, Mags was always on the end of the phone to encourage and cajole me out of my black mood. Recently the baton had been handed to Tatiana and she would kindly listen as I queried and questioned the meaning of me and my daughter's life.

The trouble was that none of them were with me now. Anne and Mags had drifted so far from my being that I knew I could not call them in the small hours of the morning. I felt guilty at calling Tatiana on holiday, knowing that she needed some down time, a chance to relax – her work had been far too demanding of late. Despite this I dialled her number and lifted the mobile to my ear listening with horror as it went through to voicemail. She had switched it off! The tears flowed harder down my cheeks – I need to speak to someone, reconnect and know that I was not alone in this world.

There was one last person I could try, despite being reluctant to my very core - Lara's father. When we had lived together Ric had been my sounding board and confidant. The occasions had been few, but occasionally he would wake me at night, gather me in his arms and quieten me from dreams that I didn't know I had been having, my cheeks wet with tears – silent horror often disturbing my repose. I needed that reassurance now and desperation made me press the number by his name.

It rang once, twice and then a third time – not switched off, but it didn't sound like he was answering and as I counted the rings, realisation dawned on me about what I was doing. Upset or not, I couldn't call him out of the blue, wasn't willing to let him know what was causing my angst. I fumbled to end the call, but was too late.

"Hello?" The words were gruff, sleepy and I shuddered as I heard the Scottish voice echo down the line.

"Ric?" My voice echoed back. "Oh god, Ric!" The tears started to flow harder as I heard his voice, my tiredness unlocking all the emotions I had sat on for the past few months.

"Izzy? Izzy is that you?" More alert now, it sounded as if he had woken up, possibly looked as his phone, and noted what strange person was calling him in the middle of the night.

"Yes. Ric, sorry, I didn't mean to call you – I – I – I just can't..." I didn't finish the sentence as noisy sobs came out of me instead, no doubt amplified down the receiver. I felt so stupid, calling this man out of the blue, in the middle of the night, only to wail at him. There was a sympathetic silence for a few moments before his voice came back in my ear.

"Izzy, calm down sweetheart, calm down. What's the matter? Why are you so upset?" It was the gentle way he said my name, the term of endearment passed off with his soft Scottish lilt before the questions.

"I'm so tired Ric, I am so tired. I haven't slept properly for three nights and I can't get to sleep now." I squeaked back, shaking my head, not that he could see.

"Are you ill?"

"No," I sighed slightly, the exhalation of my breath calming me slightly and I gazed at Lara fast asleep next to me. Reaching out a tentative hand I slipped it down the back of her babygrow, thankful to find that that her skin was at least cool – no longer running a fever. A slight glimpse of sanity returned. "I'm not – I am bone achingly tired, but I can't give up and I can't stop."

"Why can't you stop?" Oh god, such an innocent question, her was just calmly reflecting all my problems back at me, using his keen intellect so that I would psychoanalyse myself.

"Because, just because..." I trailed off – couldn't tell him. It was bad enough to call him in the middle of the night; I could hardly compound that and let him know that his daughter was lying next to me in bed, recovering from a brief childish illness.

"Is there anyone there that can help you, can support you?" I let out a long low sigh and cast my mind around. I did have acquaintances within the circle of mothers I knew and they would help, or there was the Cheyne's kindly housekeeper who doted on Lara – I wasn't as alone as I had let myself become.

"Yes, probably, if I asked." I admitted in a small voice. Five minutes of speaking to him and he had solved my torment, turned it around and all I had done was cry at him. We hadn't spoken in nearly a year and I only dialled his number when I had reached crisis point – typically selfish. "Ric?" I said in a small shaky voice, the trembling grabbing me from head to toe; nerves suddenly replacing my earlier torment.

"Yes Izzy?" His voice sounded warm, encouraging, not at all cross or fed-up, not the lecturing tone I had once dreaded.

"Don't suppose you are in the UK?" Suddenly I wanted that voice and the body that went with it wrapped around me, the comfort his words had bought to be a physical thing as well. He gave a short laugh.

"I'm in Cape Town darling," he replied and I blanched.

"Oh god, it's what three o'clock in the morning there or something isn't it? I woke you up; I'm sorry, so sorry. Please don't hold it against me." He laughed again and it warm, although tired.

"I never would Iz, I promise and I haven't been in bed that long so don't worry – I wasn't that fast asleep. You can call me anytime it doesn't matter."

"That's very kind." I sighed again. "So where are you at this very moment?"

"Sitting up in bed in a beautiful hotel. I have the curtains open because the view looks out onto the sea and I am hoping to see the sunrise this morning. It is the most breathtaking view."

"How long are you there for?"

"One more night and then we fly to Dubai before heading back to Europe. We are back in Britain October 2nd I think, just over another two months to go." He paused. "Where are you?"

"Sitting up in bed with a red face and no nice view," I replied, calming down with the easy conversation and regaining my wits. I wasn't letting anything away. He laughed again slightly and changed topics. We talked for half an hour, not of love and life, but silly and inane things of no consequence, his calm manner bringing me down, relaxing me. Suddenly I found myself yawning. "Oh shit Ric, it's nearly two," I said with a start. "I think I had better try and go back to sleep."

"Probably a good idea," he answered. "Do you want me to call you tomorrow?" I hesitated for a moment before replying in a small voice.

"Yes please."

"Okay, it might be a strange time – we go on stage about nine PM local time, so um it would be before then – is that okay?"

"Yeah." I paused. "Night Ric, thank you for everything."

"Night Izzy - sweet dreams." I ended the call, not caring that the bill would be astronomical, phoning a mobile on the other side of the world, I still talked to Ric for ages and not once did he accuse, contradict or question. Instead he was kind, undemanding and loving in his words – I felt my heartstrings give a tug. But tiredness finally weighed me down and turning out the low light, I rolled over and went to the land of dreams – his name on my lips.


	47. Chapter 47

Chapter 47

The irony, the absolutely bloody irony! Ric glanced around the walls, painted over with a particularly vile shade of blue paint, trying to cover the thick graffiti that must have once plastered the breeze blocks, some of it still peeking through the slapdash job. He felt like a naughty school boy, as he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and scrolled through the screens to the number he wanted to dial, holding it to his ear as it rang.

He couldn't believe that he was reduced to hiding in the staff toilets to try and find some privacy, but the changing room and rest areas had been heaving with the entourage that they seemed to have picked up as they toured around and there had been no free time at all earlier in the day.

That morning they had been taken to the top of Table Mountain to witness the view of the ocean spread out in front of them sparkling in the sunlight. He didn't have much time to appreciate it however, because like everything else it was a promotional opportunity, more than the ability for some time to take in the famous landmarks. Instead they had to pose against the backdrop of the mountain, sea and the sky and conduct an interview with the local music station whilst strolling around the rugged cliff top. The afternoon had been another sound check and an appearance with acoustic performance for MTV Africa. It left no free time, alone and it was what he desperately needed.

He had promised Izzy that he would call her and there was no way he would renegade on that vow. The amazement of her teary phone call was still giving him an adrenalin rush – the fact that she had voluntarily dialled his number, actively sought whatever comfort he could give was a huge boon. There was no way he was not going to return the favour possibly let her think he didn't care. Fate didn't usually offer second chances in his book.

But he didn't want all and sundry to know what he was doing. Correction, he didn't want the rest of the guys to know, especially Angus who seemed to have become his self appointed guardian. Shit, sometimes he felt he could hardly breathe without his bass player popping up into view; determined to keep him on the straight and narrow after his severe slip up at Glastonbury. And so, after pacing the length and breadth of the changing room for nearly an hour, becoming increasingly agitated as people kept interrupting them, he grabbed his mobile and headed off to the loos, locking the door against entry.

She answered on the second ring, her voice sounded flustered. "Hello Ric."

"Hey!" He didn't quite know what to say. It had been easy last night, she was upset and somehow in the darkness, all alone he felt like he could be himself. Here in this echoing room, thousands of people streaming in through the main entrance, he knew his time was limited.

"Thanks for phoning – it's really kind of you. Like I said, I am sorry about what happened last night – I was just, well at my wits end really."

"Have you managed to get some rest today? You aren't sounding so bad." She did still sound tired, but the tearful note was no longer clogging her voice.

"Yeah – went to bed for three hours – sheer bliss," She laughed slightly. "Real luxury in the middle of the day. But things look on the up again."

"Izzy," he hesitated, trying to find the right way to express what he wanted to say. He had lain awake after her call the night before; thinking about why she could be so tired, worry making connections in his brain that he couldn't shake off. "Tell me something?"

"Um, okay." She sounded slightly reluctant, a frown evident in the hesitation of the words.

"This is not connected to how you were feeling last summer is it? When you were throwing up and tired all the time, or when you were in hospital at Christmas. That isn't why you are so tired?" Damn that came out wrong. "What I am trying to ask is, there is nothing more seriously wrong is there? You aren't suffering with anything terminal are you?" His question was answered by a shocked silence before her laughter came down the line, throaty and deep.

"No, absolutely not – I am in perfect physical health Ric, I promise, it's just, well there is a situation and it gives me- um" her words stopped as if she were reluctant to say anymore, similar to the night before. "Ric, when you get back to the UK, can we meet up? I need to see you."

"Yeah, yeah of course!" He laughed slightly, wondering what she was not admitting to. Obviously it was of some importance and something that she didn't want to tell him lightly. "Izzy, I know you didn't marry Ralph Cheyne," he said gently.

"Did you?" There was hysterical relief in her voice. "That makes it easier!" He gave a brief smile –that must have been what she was so reluctant to tell him. "I, well I look forward to seeing you again."

"Me too." Why was it so difficult to say what he wanted? There was so much to be said and he couldn't find the words, didn't know how to apologise and explain. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts – hell he was out of practice when it came to summing up the details. Good job he wasn't anywhere near a juror's bench at the moment. "In fact I just wanted to..." he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence as a pounding echoed against the wooden door.

"Tom, are you in there?" It was Jim's shout. "Open this blasted door at once!"

"What was that?" Izzy asked down the line as Ric cringed. Obviously his friend had decided his behaviour was suspect and did not like the fact that he was hiding out in the men's restroom.

"Jim's, shouting at me," he said quietly against the next volley of knocks and more demands, this time delivered in Angus' angry tones, demanding that he come out.

"Oh well, good to know some things don't change." She laughed again and the sound warmed his heart.

"I've gotta go, but I will try and call, or send you a text tomorrow – it's all a bit hectic as we are flying." He spoke hastily, trying to get his words in before anymore interruption from the other side of the door.

"Please Ric, don't worry if you can't. I'll be fine," Izzy started to speak down the line, but he broke her off.

"I want to Izzy, let me. I will speak soon. I – I" he couldn't say 'love you' to her, she would probably throw the words back in his face. "Take care. Bye!"

"Bye!" As soon as her words came down the line he switched the phone off and shoved it into his back pocket, opening the door to the cubicle where he was met with his three friends and Pete all gathered in front of the booth, their faces a collective glower. He held up his hands in alarm, not sure what they thought he had been doing.

"Okay guys, I'm coming out with my hands in the air," he stepped forward, bemusement twisting his mouth into a slight smile. Jim grabbed his arms and shoved the sleeves of his top up, his face pulled into a frown as he studied his forearms and veins. "What?"

"What were you doing in there Tom?" Angus' voice was low and wary as he trained his gaze on him, before flicking down to the skin on his arms. They had a few bruises on them from over energetic performances, but were otherwise clear.

"Not shooting up, which is what you seem to think," he looked at Jim, who was studying his skin, his nose only inches away. He pulled them out of his friend's grasp. "Get off! Just because I don't want to share my entire life with all of you, doesn't mean I am now courting Mr Brown!" He didn't know if he should be angry or amused. "I was actually looking for some privacy."

"So why were you pacing around like a caged lion earlier?" Angus' forehead was pulled into a deep frown and he pushed past Richard and glanced around the cubicle loo. "You promised me that you wouldn't touch anymore drugs after Glasto. You totally swore you wouldn't."

"Yeah and I stuck to it. Stop being so suspicious – you aren't my keeper!" He was rapidly sliding into angry. It was fine of Angus to look out for him, but there was overstepping the mark and it was being approached at rapid speed.

"Hey calm down Tom, I was the one looking for you – you're on stage in half an hour and," Pete's gaze assessed Phantom in a quick sweep of his body, "I wasn't sure if you were ready or not?"

Ric shifted his eyes towards his tatty trainers and jeans – not the sort of look he normally went for on stage. He sighed and raised them back to his companions who were admittedly looking slightly embarrassed.

"Thanks for the countdown," he spoke gruffly. "Better go and get ready I guess." As he moved away from the toilets and through the corridors towards the main changing room Angus fell into step with him.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped the mark okay?" Richard remained silent. "But you were acting really weird earlier." A snort of disgust came from his nose. "You were pacing up and down the room and have been jumpy all day – sorry, but those are classic symptoms."

"Symptoms of what?" Ric snapped finally.

"Of drug use of course, what else? Agitation mainly and being distracted, dilated pupils as well!"

"Who made you the bloody armchair expert all of a sudden?" He stopped walking and rounded on his friend. "Could it maybe be that as I cannot wear sunglasses with a mask, the light was shinning straight into my eyes on top of a mountain, hmm? And I am agitated because I had an important phone call to make and no fucking personal space or time to make it in? Or is that impossible and I must be cultivating an A class heroin habit?"

"Look mate, Ric – sorry. You are right; maybe I just jumped to conclusions. I am only doing what you requested me to do hey!" Angus held up his hands in defence, always thrown when the lead singer showed his anger. Ric sighed and shook his head, shoving his hair back off his face.

"Apology accepted and you are right, I did ask you to keep an eye out and look, you've managed to keep me on the straight and narrow for two whole months – you are an excellent babysitter."

"And you are becoming a bloody good scrabble player!" Angus rejoined, referring to their late night gaming sessions. Bored of cards, fed up of watching videos and not wishing to spend every night out on the razz they had turned to board games as a way to fill the void, empty hours. Scrabble was currently the competition of choice and Ric thought he was getting rather good, especially as he could always fall back on the many complex legal and musical terms to fill in words. Only trouble was it did not fit in with the image they had cultivated or the music they played. Sandy and Jim only offered derision at their playing.

"It's only two more months Gus, eight weeks and then we can go home, take a break – chill out a bit. Let's not loose our heads this late in the day."

"You're the one who said it Ric," Angus responded quietly, aware that there were other people hanging around. They ploughed through the groups of people who were gathered in the lounge area outside their changing room, gaining the privacy of the inner sanctum locking the door against intrusion. He pulled his domino off his face and took off his t-shirt, untying his hair from the ponytail and sat in front of the mirror, looking at the face gazing back at him. He knew he should change, select a costume from the rack of dry cleaned plastic wrapped clothes that sat on the rail behind him, change his contacts and glue another mask to his face. He couldn't bloody well be bothered. It might have only been another eight weeks or eight years – it felt as if he had been on tour for eternity and there was still forever to go before it finished, despite what he had said to Angus.

" C'mon man, or we'll be late on and the crowds are always overworked – that's when they go mad." The bass player noticed his hesitation, clapping a friendly hand to his shoulder. "Then you can go back to your day dreaming.

"Yeah, sure – whatever," Ric said and with a sigh stood up. Time to take on the mantle of the Phantom once again.

* * *

The summer passed by in a blur. Dubai was followed by Istanbul and from there the band flew to South America – Santiago, Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro and Mexico City before once again landing in the USA. Ric let a small smile pass his lips as their plane landed in LAX because less than a year after he had made his private vow, sitting in the hotel room in New York, Cluinn was back to play the Hollywood Bowl, the venue filled to capacity with over seventeen thousand fans screaming and fighting for tickets.

He tried to phone or text Izzy everyday, despite the hectic schedule and discordant time zones. Sometimes it wasn't much more than a few words, but she always sounded glad to hear from him, her voice happy and upbeat. No more tears like the first call. And the sound of her voice spurred him on, let him play and sing with the passion necessary to deliver the performances the band had become known for, because in the back of his mind, he was performing at every concert for her. It was all that kept him going.

Vancouver, Toronto, New York all came and went in a blur and still he didn't tell the rest of the band what he was doing, although he did wonder if Angus suspected. His friend no longer followed him around like a bloodhound, obviously once again trusting him when he slipped away to find a moment of privacy to try and make a phone call or send a message. His bills were astronomical, not that he cared – plenty of money to cover those. Not only was the first Cluinn album riding high with sales of four million making it multi-platinum, but after only five months in the various international charts, 'Carthesis' was steadily catching it up, already going platinum in five different countries.

And finally after more countries and concerts then he could remember, when the beginning of the year seemed a yawning distance away, after an eternity spent sitting in airport lounges and on buses and in changing rooms waiting, they flew into Gatwick, landing on British soil again, clutching a hat trick of statues they had won at the MTV awards the night before.

"I feel like I should kneel and kiss the ground," Jim smiled as they walked down the gangway and into the airport, subtly ushered to one side and into the fast track area for VIP travellers; their entry back into the UK delicately dealt with, their luggage collected and trolleyed for them.

"Going to have to get used to normal life again," Sandy commented as they passed through the doors into the arrival lounge, smiling and waving at the photographers who were always at the flight arrivals, hoping for famous people to land and give them a picture to sell.

"Where are you going?" Ric asked, glancing around.

"Night in a hotel and then Chris and I are heading straight back to Aberdeen. We haven't seem Mam in so long," he shrugged. "After that don't know, just mooch around for a bit, catch up with people. Chris was talking about going skiing. It's only three weeks and then we have that video shoot and the next single is released isn't it? Just enough time to wind down and it will all start again. What about you?" He snagged a pastry as they walked past the table, handing half of it to his friend, unaware of the mental angst that his question had caused.

"I don't know," Ric shrugged, accepting the food. "Find somewhere to live I guess, go and see my Grandparents. I'm quite tempted to see if they need any assistance over at my old chambers, paper pusher or something." Sandy let out a bark of laughter.

"You have just finished touring the world and you want to go and lock yourself in some stuffy office and do research?"

"Keep my hand in," he knew it sounded ridiculous, it was only a thought, as much a fallback if his first plan of finding Izzy didn't work out. "Can't tour like this forever, I will end up killing myself."

"As long as you stay fit – keep up the cross training, you'll do fine. I've actually got my eye on a sweet little bike that I might treat myself to, go and do some cycling at home."

"Sounds like fun," Ric mused.

"Well if you end up in Glasgow with nothing to do, you can always join in.

"Thanks for the invite." He glanced over his shoulder. "Well, time to split I guess – Pete is waving at us." He hesitated, not quite sure what to say or do. He had lived in close quarters with this man for several months; over a year in fact and to suddenly say goodbye was difficult. Sandy took him in a one armed hug, slapping his back.

"See you man, have a good one enjoying your dusty law books or whatever and see you at the warehouse in three weeks!" Ric smiled weakly, ashamed at the deception – but not wanting to admit to his pathetic need to find his ex-girlfriend. Even though he and Izzy were talking to each other again, although he texted her daily, she never told him where she was living and said precious little about what she was doing with her life, purposefully keeping him at arm's length.

"You too." He moved onto his other friend's exchanging similar farewells before getting into the car he had been allocated and driven to his flat and back to normality.

* * *

The light woke him the next morning. He had fallen into bed and forgotten to draw the curtains and when the grey light and sound of traffic permeated his senses he woke up, looking around in confusion. It took him a brief moment to remember where he was, not a hotel room or the tour bus, but Izzy's flat; his flat. He had organised for a cleaning company to come in and caretake the rooms, so at least he had returned to accommodation that was clean and ready to be occupied, but apart from a complimentary fruit basket and clean sheets they had made no effort to welcome him home.

The sound of rain outside permeated his senses and he dully realised that it was a cold and wet rainy day in London – depressing. And he was all alone – even more depressing. He eased himself out of bed and wandered into the main living room where his two bags, scuffed and worn from following him around the world, drunkenly lay on the floor, waiting to be emptied and washed. There was no milk in the refrigerator which stood switched off and empty, the door wide open as if to attest to its clean and sterile state, no teabags in the cupboards – nothing.

He had grown accustom to waking up to a hotel breakfast, or at the very least takeout coffees and pastries – a selection of newspapers available, the invisible hand of their tour assistant at work. Now the cruelty of the cold light of day dumped its full weight on him. No food, no drink and utterly alone.

With a sigh he dug around in his bag and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and an old top before pausing. He wasn't sure how recognisable he was in London anymore – could he get away with going out as he was? Did he need to wear a mask? Should he go full out and dress as Phantom? He gave a huff at his stupidity – it really did seem that he had lost any ability to live as a normal person. Of course no one would recognise him if he dressed down and wore his prosthetic, in the same way no one did when he went around incognito on tour. Unlike the airport people weren't gathered on street corners waiting for someone famous to put in an appearance – they just wanted to get on with their lives, in the same way he did.

He returned forty minutes later weighed down with carrier bags, everything he needed to live with that was missing from the flat. It had been exhausting to try and remember what was needed to run a house, it had been so long. There was no one to make sure the washing was done, no eager assistant to run for coffee or tea or someone else willing to lend him their copy of a magazine or paper. How detached he had become from the normality of the humdrum day, he thought as he unpacked the bags into the cupboard, before emptying the mounds of washing onto the floor, desultorily sorting them before pushing a full armload into the machine. Now what?

He stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and looked around, not sure what he should do next. More boring housekeeping tasks or attempting to find Izzy? Or should he avoid the situation altogether and let her do the contacting. It wouldn't be long before the news that Cluinn was back in the UK would spread, even to Isabella's ears – wherever she was. But he knew that he couldn't be that callous, that ego driven. He had missed her terribly as he toured around the world and being back in contact was the sweetest gift imaginable. It also made him realise just how egotistical he had been. It was time to call in the cards and change it all – he just had to find her first.

Grabbing his mobile he dialled the number of the one person he knew could help, however reluctant she might be and an hour later strode out the house, heading for the local Starbucks on Kensington Church Street where they had agreed to meet. He wandered in and ordered a coffee, his eyes scanning the solo people sitting at tables, until they rested on the woman he had once mistook for Izzy. She was seated at a table, her laptop open in front of her and a coffee by her side, chewing the end of her pen and frowning at the screen.

"Tatiana." She looked up at him and frowned, as she took in his tall frame, obviously trying to place him. Of course she had only ever seen him as Phantom, highly styled and in full rock mode. He knew he looked different in jogging bottoms, a sweater and scarf wrapped around his neck. The fake prosthetic made his skin look clear, glasses on his face drew attention to his eyes and his long hair was bundled up under a baseball cap.

"Richard," she said after a moment's pause, a hard smile on her face. "Take a seat." She gestured to the chair next to her, her eyes darting over the computer where she hastily shut down a programme so that the homepage sprung up instead. The picture in the centre focused on the face of a small baby, bright blue eyes staring out of the screen.

"Cute rugrat," he commented with a smile. He had grown up around small children, his Grandparents house often being full of babies as their Mothers used his Grandmother's wisdom and knowledge as an informal baby clinic. Unlike some men he didn't mind little babies – total contrast to Sandy who practically ran in the opposite direction when he saw one.

"That's my Goddaughter," Tatiana replied and Ric frowned at the evident coldness in her voice. She hastily opened up another file and the picture was lost again. "I can guess what you what to ask?"

"Am I that obvious?" he sparred back automatically.

"Well, I doubt you came to congratulate me on my good aim or to ask what my latest project is so yes." He was momentarily distracted.

"Latest project?"

"It's a good thing you called my mobile. I have left T&W, set up my own company," she paused before adding after a beat, "with Izzy." He literally rocked back in his chair.

"You and Izzy have started a PR Company? When?"

"I started it, Izzy is my Chief Accounts Director and works for me part-time. I got fed up with T&W's money grabbing attitude and decided I could do better. So yeah, this is my office at the moment and we've been up and running for three weeks now. Cluinn want to defect like some of my other clients?"

"Depends if you plan to stab my foot again or not?"

"You are planning on hurting Izzy; it will be a lot more than your foot I will hurt next time?"

"Is this your usual sales pitch?" He couldn't help the grin that stretched his mouth, enjoying her feisty retort and straight forward way of delivering the news.

"No, I save the best for you." Her eyes bored into him directly, but he didn't flinch, instead leaning forward he rested his elbows on his knees, hugging the warmth of his mug with his hands and held her gaze.

"Look Tatiana, I can't undo the past, cannot change it – but when Izzy and I split up, well a lot of shit happened, but not a lot of words were exchanged. We jumped to conclusions and blamed each other for things that were not our faults. But I've been doing a lot of thinking, soul searching and I just want to see her and talk to her – clear the air if necessary."

"You gonna' tell me you've become a Buddhist, found enlightenment and only eat soya beans now," more sarcastic words were flung at him.

"Hardly – besides I'm a dyed in the wool Catholic, we are a bit hard to convert. If it's any help we have been talking and texting for the past two months – not like I would go and dump on her out of the blue, she's aware that I am due back here, just a couple of days late that's all."

"I know you've been talking, I've been preaching restraint to her," the tone of voice was a little less sarcastic, a touch more open. "Congratulations on the MTV awards by the way – doubt anyone from T&W has been in touch about it though, have they?" It was Richard's turn to frown; no he didn't remember seeing a press release, which was odd as they were usually shoved under the bands noses before being sent out. He shook his head.

"Nope. Unless they dealt directly with EGA marketing, which pisses me off as you have total strangers commenting on your lives without informing you what they are agreeing on."

"See, come over to my company and that would never be an issue," she smiled again, less forced and Ric couldn't help but return it as he took another swig of his coffee, sitting up straighter.

"Give me Izzy's address and I will think about it."

"That's bribery!"

"Yeah – but it also tells me how much you want Cluinn as an account and if I can possibly work with you in the future!" She was like a female version of Angus, quick off the mark, upfront with sparky conversation. Maybe he should introduce them. She hesitated and he could tell that she was considering it.

"Introduce me to your bass player to sweeten the deal and I'll think about it." She laid her cards on the table.

"Angus, you wanna' meet Gus?" He couldn't control the surprise in his voice. "Yeah sure, no problem – except he's back up in Scotland for three weeks so it won't be straightaway and I don't want to wait three weeks to know Izzy's whereabouts." Her mouth was pulled into a pout and she gave a huge sigh. He had to resist the urge to punch the air when she scribbled something in a note pad and tore the page out, holding it between her fingers. He went to grab it but she held it out of reach.

"Promise me something Richard," she said, fixing him with an almost unblinking stare, "when you see Izzy, you will sit down and listen to her – hear her out. If I find out you've made her cry or that you've stormed off or both I will personally track you down and it won't be to chase your business."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I am protecting the people I love, that is all," she said holding the paper out to him, mistrust in her eyes. "So don't prove me right please – I am not sure why I am giving you a second chance, but I am. Don't fuck it up!"

He would have laughed but for the serious tone in her voice as she held out the desired information. Nobody talked like that to him anymore; usually it was with a degree of reverence and humility, not outwardly hostile. "I won't" he said quietly, injecting his voice with as much humbleness as he could. "I promise." He plucked the paper from her hand and cast his mug down onto the table before standing up. "Thank you Tatiana and I'll be in touch. Are you going to come to the concert at the O2 in November?"

"Not unless you give me a pass, I no longer have access to all that."

"Consider it done, but hopefully we will meet before then and with a bit of luck it won't be so you can ram my balls down my throat!" She laughed at that comment, pulling her face from the frown that had sat on it during their meeting.

"Good luck!"She replied, standing up and offering her hand. He shook it and left, fingering the piece of paper open, gazing at the address before looking up and down the street.

"Isabella, what the hell are you doing in Haselmere?" he murmured to himself, before turning and heading for home.


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

The rain came down in a vertical sheet; notice more than anything else that summer was well and truly over. Thankfully the approach of winter did not fill me with dread as it had last year and whilst I had a brief mourning for the end of summer; it was only because I had enjoyed spending hour in the sunlight garden with my daughter, where as the weather grew inclement we were increasingly forced inside.

It helped that Richard and I were once again in contact. My teary phone call to him had re-established the lines of communication and now we spoke almost everyday or at least exchanged texts. He also thankfully made the calls, bearing the expense of our strange relationship. I was still reeling from the seven pounds it had cost me to call him in South Africa!

Our conversations were always light hearted, our texting were silly jokes and messages – never anything serious, never touching on any matters of the heart. Whenever he turned the topic to where I lived, what I was doing with my life, I gently steered it in another direction. I was scared to tell him about Lara, not wanting to dump the burden of parenthood on him through a phonecall. Instead I was waiting to meet him, let him see and understand. The only trouble was the longer I resisted admitting the truth, the harder it was becoming.

He had been due back in England a couple of days ago, but the last text I had received from him (just before he was due to go to the MTV awards) said he was unsure what their plans were, the next few days mapped out by how many awards they might or might not win. He would contact me, he promised, just not quite sure when. I could do nothing other then trust him, there was no reason not to and I had nothing to lose, having been very careful to give him nothing fragile – least of all my love.

Tatiana had blanched when I let on what had happened in her absence, going paler beneath her newly acquired tan. "Are you sure?" she had asked a worried note in her voice.

"Yes, actually I am. I only called in desperate need, but Tatty he has been so kind and sweet and caring. It made me realise that whilst I have been focusing on all the negatives of our relationship, we were actually quite happy together – he did care about me!" There was a pleading note in my voice as I implored her to understand my frame of mind.

"And have you told him about Lara?" She nodded to my daughter playing on her mat, batting her toys with deep concentration.

"No – I haven't said anything, purposefully kept the conversation light."

"How do you know he want throw a huge fit when he finds out, demands to know why you kept it a secret and fight you for full custody?" I blanched at the negative picture she painted, but deep down refused to believe it. Yes Richard and I had argued, but we had never explained our actions to each other and something inside me was sure that he would not wish to split up a family. Hell, before he started on this crazy music path he was training to become a lawyer specialising in children's cases – he valued the young and the need for familial relationships. However I couldn't explain it to Tatiana, it was one thing to admit to our past and tell her his real name, quite another to reveal his unusual history and upbringing.

Of course I had my misgivings about being in contact with him. All the doubts that I had before the birth of my daughter reared their ugly head again and this time I had hard fact to back them up. Lara's father had just spent over a year touring around the world – even by his admission he lived his life out of a suitcase, in hotels and tour buses and it was unpleasant. I didn't know how he would be able to be a part of his daughter's life if that was how he lived his. And his music – it was breathtaking and sexy, heavy and rocking that somehow got inside your mind and soul. It was exactly the sort of music that most parents feared their children hearing too young for it ignited feelings and emotions inside the listener. On top of all those problems there also seemed to be the small one of his appearance. Whilst I was aware that 'Phantom' was a character and the costumes worn on stage were styled for him, it was still slightly off putting to see the muscular, sculpted man he had become. His long tangle of dark hair, the incredibly tight trousers, and the excuses for clothes that seemed to be more ripped fabric then any substance – it didn't shout responsible adult, it definitely was not Haselmere parent.

Either way, radio silence had been maintained for five days and I realised how much joy our silly conversation had provided me – how much I looked forward to his phone call or text. Instead there was total silence from his number. I could have easily called him, but didn't allow myself – didn't want to seem too grabbing, too eager. For once he could do the chasing; I was determined not to make it too easy for him. My life had very nearly gone exceedingly wrong because of his actions.

Instead I got on with my life as best I could. Tatiana had gone ahead with her plans and a month ago had quit T&W in high style, walking out with a good handful of clients. She was determined that I could work with her and despite my protests granted me a pretend title, printed up business cards and asked me to write press releases. It wasn't difficult labour and a few hours at the kitchen table when Lara was asleep meant that I could easily keep up with the jobs she asked me to do. It felt good to be using my brain again, to be providing for my daughter and whilst I didn't think I deserved the salary she conferred on me, I was also grateful for an extra income stream.

It still left me plenty of time to do all the activities that I had participated in on my child's behalf. From swimming to singing, coffee mornings to playgroups, I had signed up for all sorts of sessions, at first as a reason to get me out of the house, but as time went on because I could see that my daughter thrived with the interaction and exercise. It also stopped my brain from disintegrating further into the mush that pregnancy had left it in.

And so it was a wet Wednesday when I drove home in the rain after baby swimming, cursing when I found my space outside our house taken. Whilst it was lovely living in a charming Victorian cottage, the huge disadvantage was the dreadful parking, no driveways in which to leave the car, meaning there was always a polite bun fight between neighbours in an attempt to park their vehicles outside their houses and not a hike along the road. My neighbours kindly attempted to keep a space clear outside my abode, aware that I had a small child and that it was difficult to lug an infant carrier with an increasingly heavy child anywhere. I drove my small car with its rusty wheel arches and parked it several spaces further away, shooting glares at the brand new black Audi that languished outside my small house. I vaguely wondered who the owner was, must be a visitor to a neighbour's as it was still a ten minute walk into town from where I lived and we were not convenient for the station.

Instead I muttered a curse aimed at inconsiderate drivers and lugged Lara inside the house, the infant carrier bumping against my leg, the change bag and our wet swimming costumes banging my hip as I made ungainly progress up the road. Once inside we dried off from the rain and I made lunch. Lara had embraced weaning with gusto and although I had only been at it a couple of weeks, she seemed to eagerly eat the small cubes of mush that I offered her, begging for more with a little sparrow like mouth. Sweet Potato and carrot puree was on the menu that lunch time and she ate five ice cubes with gusto, followed by a mix of apple and banana that seemed to go down a treat, even if most of it ended up on her rather then in her. After a feed she then collapsed into her cot and I dropped into the nearest chair, weary with the energy expanded that morning.

I balanced on the boundaries of wakefulness enjoying the moments of peace and solitude and trying very hard to stop myself drifting off. I knew there were chores to be done – I should take the spare time to put a wash on, make a dent in the pile of the ironing and mop the kitchen floor. My hair was in rat's tails from the chlorine and rain and could do with a wash and condition and my toenails drastically needed repainting. Instead the cosy sound of the rain rattling on the roof tiles had made me soporific and I couldn't muster enough energy to cross out even one item on my invisible list.

It was a battle to stop my eyelids closing as I sat there, lulled into peace by the repetitive noise, drifting off. The sound of the door knocker banging had me jumping up startled, the noise rousing me from my state of semi-slumber and I looked around in confusion, briefly wondering where the interruption had come from. The knock sounded again and I pushed myself up from the chair, yawning and stumbled towards the door, opening it wearily, wondering who it was and if I could dispatch them quickly.

He stood with his back to the door, obviously viewing the house across the road, an umbrella held by his side as he was under the porch and protected from the rain. He turned as I cleared my throat, the sound catching as I looked at his face, so that it changed to a cough. The smile on his faded at the noise; so it was a serious look that he gave me, blue eyes sparkling in his face.

"I-I guess you better come in Richard, get out of the rain," I said stupidly, standing back so he could come in through the door.

"Thanks." He automatically bent his head slightly as he walked over the threshold and stood inside, water dripping from the anorak he was wearing. I stood there and stared at him, mute with astonishment, shocked and surprised. Whilst I had expected him to make contact, possibly to call – having him turn up on my doorstep stunned me into silence.

"Hi Izzy," he finally said after I had stood without making conversation for a good half a minute. I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them again but he was still standing there, the smell of wet coat rising from him as he dried slightly, standing by the radiator in the hall.

"Can I take your coat?" I finally dredged up some lost manners and watched as he shrugged out of it, handing it to me, my mind still refusing to acknowledge his presence as real, waiting for it to all dissolve away into another dream. But he didn't move, just smiled slightly; possibly a little bit embarrassed by the strange behaviour I was exhibiting, wondering what had happened to the woman he had known and why she had been replaced with the lunatic who didn't speak in full sentences.

Another glance up and down and I realised he was actually quite wet, had obviously been walking in the rain. The bottoms of his jeans were dark with water and the scuffed trainers no doubt wet through as well. Small droplets of rain caught in the locks around his face. It was only as my gaze assessed him that I realised he was unmasked, the twisted scar that ran across his face in full view – this was very much my Ric. "Hello," I said finally in return. "Come into the living room and dry off." He laughed at that, but followed me into my small cosy sitting room, sitting down in the chair I had just vacated, no doubt warmed with my body heat. "Um, cup of tea?" It seemed the most normal thing to do and the few minutes spent making it would let me regain some equilibrium.

"Yes please." The words were delivered with another soft smile as he bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes searching and holding mine.

"Feel free to take your shoes and socks off," I invited realising how stupid the words sounded after they had left my mouth. I hadn't seen this man in months and I was inviting him to get undressed. But my mothering gene was on and I couldn't help it. "The heating's on, you can stick them on the radiator to get them dry!"

"Thanks," the word was said with a light snort of laughter, but he bent over and pulled at the laces, obviously intending to take up my offer. I hesitated for a moment before turning and hurried to the kitchen.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," I swore to the kettle, toaster and hob as there was no one to hear my alarm. "Shit," I added for good measure as I took mugs out of the cupboard and put teabags in. Richard was sitting in my living room; our daughter was asleep upstairs and with a bit of luck would remain so for another thirty minutes, possibly a little more. I was a bumbling mess, wrong footed by his arrival, unsure what I wanted to say to him, worried about the news I had to tell him.

Finally two mugs in hand I went back to the living room, pausing on the threshold. He had taken up my suggestion and now stood in the middle of the living room barefoot, his Converse and socks balanced on the radiator under the window. He had his back to me, perusing my small collection of DVDs and CDs, head titled to one side as he read some of the titles.

"Tea!" Even to my ears my voice was strained and high, but it caused him to turn and look at me, the slight grin fading again.

"I'm sorry Izzy, I should have called and asked if you were around- not just turned up on your doorstep," he apologised, taking the cup from me and sitting back down again. Sitting down was good, I could handle him sitting down, he wasn't so tall and huge, still sexy though – even with his wet jeans rolled up and the arms of his sweater pushed to his elbows. "I just got carried away, wanted to see you. It's been so long – too long."

"Guess Tatiana gave you my address?" He nodded. "How long did you have to torture her before she broke?"

"I said I would give her the Cluinn account, she squealed like a pig!" He flashed me a smile again and I realised how charming it was – had forgotten how he could tease and joke. My memories had not served me true. "You weren't around so I went for a walk into the town, try and get the lie of the land. It's raining pretty hard."

"Summer is totally over," I offered and he nodded.

"But it's quite nice. I missed the rain – we've been touring so many hot dry places and I forgot what a good rain shower is like."

"Very... wet," my eyes travelled to his large bare feet, watching as he flexed his toes into the rug. "If you have missed the rain you must have been away far too long – or you are just far too used to it."

"Have to be coming from Scotland, more then our fair share," he shot back. "Although obviously forgotten what it's like being out in it." He took a sip of his tea and gave a deep sigh of contentment. "I have missed real tea. I ran out of teabags halfway through and that Lipton's stuff you get everywhere else is just not the same, or maybe it's the water – couldn't figure it out."

I laughed slightly in a strained sort of way, not sure what to say or do. Part of me wanted to hyperactively get up and leap around the room, the nerves causing excess energy in me. The vitriolic side was getting worked up, huffing and puffing away; demanding that I ask some difficult questions and the hormones were just waking up and starting to get excited – I could feel the tremors running down my legs; the centre of me changing into molten wax.

"Dare I ask what you are doing living down here then?" He asked as he sipped his tea, his bright blue eyes never leaving my face, even over the rim of his mug.

"Oh, I err – Tatiana's parents live near here and it's where I grew up so it made sense to come..." I trailed off, unable to tell him the real reason, explain how I ended up miles away from London.

"I understand," he said quietly and I gave a weak smile, knowing that he didn't really.

"The thought of living in London now," I continued. "The noise and the crowds – no space – it is so unappealing. I haven't been up there in months – the start of the year. I'm content here – even if Tatty claims it is a provincial backwater."

"Won't you need to go up for work though?" My smile came out more as a grimace.

"S'pose so, although the idea is pretty...I guess I will cross that bridge when it happens. At the moment Tatty doesn't even have an office, just works from home."

"Or her local Starbucks," Ric added. "That's where she was when I saw her anyway."

"You met her in Starbucks? You went out looking like..." I gestured towards his face, not voicing the question I was asking.

"No," he shook his head as he bent down and put his empty mug on the floor. "I still wear the prosthetic most of the time, the masks are now for when I am Phantom and, well this is just me." He spread his hands as if to indicate his open state, replying also without words '_this is me, take me as I _am' at least that is how I chose to interpret it.

"You look different," I said after a moment's hesitation, studying him again.

"It's the hair isn't it?" He self-consciously reached behind his shoulder and fiddled with the length of hair tied back in a ponytail. It reached down to the bottom of his shoulder blades. "I just haven't had a chance to get it cut, keep meaning to."

"Not just the hair," I added quickly. "You look – bigger!" My face must have shown my feelings about his large muscular chest and the developed pecs that peeked out from the sleeves of his top for he laughed.

"You've got Sandy to blame for those – he got me into the habit of exercising, running, lifting weights. I can bench press about one sixty pounds now. You need to be fit when you tour."

"But, you do all that running about on stage and ..." I trailed off, red staining my cheeks. I had just admitted that I watched their gigs, knew the energy to put into the performance.

"You need to be fit in the first place to do all that running about." He spoke softly. "I thought I was going to die with exhaustion when we first started touring last year."

_And I thought I was going to die of a broken heart_, the words popped into my brain as I stared at him and I felt the alarming prickle of moisture in my eyes. Damn, why was this so difficult, so awkward? There was so much I had to say to him and we were just skimming the surface, having silly conversation about rain, tea and hair. I glanced over at him again, noticed that he was looking down at his hands loosely knotted together, the long fingers interlocked.

"Ric," I said finally take a deep breath, knowing that I could not delay the inevitable any further.

"Yes Izzy."

"I need to tell you something, show you something and, well promise me you will hear me out before..." My voice trembled and I felt my jaw quiver. Suddenly, my mother's ear tuned into the sound of my daughter's yells from upstairs. I didn't know if it was sweet relief or the worst timing. "Just excuse me for one minute please." I put my cup down on the floor and without glancing at him slipped up the steep staircase to my daughter's little room.

She was lying in her cot, her blanket kicked off, staring at her mobile and chewing the hard corner of a teething toy. A suspicious smell arose from her trousers and I realised this is what had woken her – she normally slept for at least another quarter of an hour. I hurriedly changed her, not wishing to delay the moment anymore and with soft murmurs in her ear walked downstairs with her in my arms, my heart pounding as if I were going to the scaffold. It was now or never.

He looked up as I entered the room again, the smile in his eyes dropping away as he saw the child I carried in my arms. I sat down on the sofa opposite him, cuddling Lara to me, aware that I was about to change three people's lives forever.

"Who's that?" He said softly, the blood rushed out of his face making it pale and white, the scar standing out in contrast.

"Um," I suddenly realised my teeth were chattering like castanets. "Ric, this is L-L," I swallowed hard. "This is your daughter, Lara Frances." The words came out in a rush and I stared at him in muted desperation, the sight of his face blurring as tears began to well up in my eyes. If it was possible he had gone even paler and he slid out of the chair on to his knees on the floor, crawling forward a pace so that he knelt in front of me and our daughter.

"Lara," he spoke the name softly, his accent shortening the vowels making it sound softer. He stared at her with mute wonder and seeing their faces close together I realised that despite all my protests she looked like him. The shape of her eyes and their startling blue colour, the small pointed face and widow's peak hairline were all from him. Very gently he reached out a large trembling hand and placed it on her head, the size of the palm almost covering the top of her skull – it probably would have when she had been born. My daughter, who appreciated any sort of attention, gave him a beaming gummy smile and I watched as his mouth widened into one in return. His hand slipped off her head and he held out the other arm, silently asking to hold her.

It was very difficult to let go, to allow him to take her from my grasp, but I watched in admiration as he gently slipped his hand behind her back, cradling her against him as he rested back on his knees, looking down at her in amazement. I had to hand it to him; the man knew how to hold a small child. He moved his legs from underneath him and sat cross legged on the floor, balancing her on his knees, holding her in his eye line, his large hands supporting her small body and it was only as I briefly looked up from regard of my daughter that I realised tears were pouring from his eyes.

"Hey Ric," I said softly, alarmed at the emotions he was showing, far from the stoic creature I believed he had become. "Here, let me – there is..." He gently handed our daughter back to me before wrenching to his feet and striding out the room. Realising that he didn't know where to go, where the bathroom was, I gently put Lara down on her mat and followed him out. He was sitting on the stairs, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Ric," I touched his shoulder tentatively, not sure how he would react although the action was enough to make him look up. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, smiling slightly when I handed him a tissue.

"Thanks," the word was gruff and strained and he hesitated and wiped his eyes before taking a deep breath. "How old is she Izzy?"

"Practically six months, give or take a few days. Her birthday is April seventeenth." I hesitated and looked at him, glad the tears had dried up – it was unnerving to see him cry, so out of character. "Ric, I'm sorry." I said simply, not completing the sentence. Sorry for leaving you, sorry for not telling you, sorry for lying, sorry for not getting in contact – there was too much to apologise for. He snorted slightly and gave a deep sigh.

"She looks like Mam," he said quietly. "It was a shock."

"Yeah." It must have been a shock, I never thought of it from his point of view. Hello Ric, here is your daughter, gosh doesn't she look like your dead mother and by the way she has the same name.

"Explains a lot," he rose from his seat on the stairs, towering over me as he stood a couple of steps higher, slowly coming down the staircase. He reached out and ran his fingers gently down the side of my face, sending a shiver straight down my spine. I took a step backwards away from his touch, shaking my head.

"No Ric, no." I knew that his eyes shone with disappointment as I turned on my heel and walked back into the living room, laughing as I saw that my monkey of a daughter had managed to roll herself off the mat and was now lying on the carpet, examining the pile with an air of suspicion as it was not edible. I scooped her up, cuddling her close and showering her head with kisses, suddenly feeling the separation more desperately then before. She was no longer mine alone – by letting Richard in, I had to share her. Aware that he was now standing in the doorway I purposefully turned and handed Lara to him. "Here you go, why not get to know each other and I can go and put a wash on." I didn't give him a chance to object, but slipped past with a little smile – in for a penny, in for a pound.

The chores took more time then I realised and a full twenty minutes elapsed as I loaded the machine, washed up and cleaned the kitchen. Returning to the living room where I had heard the gentle Scottish tones talking I stopped stunned – it was empty. The panic that flooded my veins had my heart thumping. "Richard!" The word came out as a frightened shout – adrenalin coursing around, thoughts about child kidnapping running through my head. "Richard, where are you?"

"We're up here!" The reply came back down and I stopped and turned, realising that he was upstairs. I took the stairs two at a time.

"What the hell are you doing up here?" Fright caused aggression in my tone as I stopped dead in the doorway to Lara's room. He stood there at the change table, his daughter lying down on her back, her trousers off and a rolled up nappy balanced on the edge.

"She was wet," he replied a chiding glance thrust in my direction before he flattened out a nappy from the basket underneath, smiling down at his daughter. "Now stop rolling around, your Da hasn't done this in a long time." I stood there and watched, the adrenalin causing my body to shake as it left, trying not to gape in amazement as he changed her nappy with a sure handed touch. "There, better!" He picked her up, cradling her in his arm and walked over to me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of one mouth.

"H-How did you know how to do that?" I remembered my first cack handed efforts when she was still newborn, compared to the ease with which this single man had changed his daughter."

"My Grandmother was a midwife? I have listened in on more childcraft lessons then I can remember. And I was fifteen when my brother was born – use to change his nappies, it hasn't altered much, although couldn't find the talcum powder."

"I don't, you don't use..." I shook my head, trying to clear the fog, slightly stunned at what I had witnessed. This man, this musician, so comfortable in the role I had thrust upon him? Or was he just trying to be helpful? All I knew was that the little bubble I had inhabited for the past six months had just burst. Ric was here; he accepted his daughter and if early indications were to be believed, he would be good with her – would give Lara the love I had so desired him to pour upon her. He was cradling her against his chest, her little body pressed to his, one small hand resting on his muscled bicep, happy and innocent. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "What were your plans for the today Richard?"

"Plans?" he sounded shocked. "Anything I had planned to do has been blown out the water, I don't really know. Am I holding you up with something?" I shook my head.

"No." I took a deep breath and continued. "So would you like to stay the rest of the day, maybe for supper? I – we, there is a lot to discuss – about Lara and things." He nodded gravely and I frowned, wondering why he wasn't standing still, before I realised he was swaying slightly, the motion comforting the child in his arms.

"That would be nice, thanks for the invitation. If you want, I can continue to keep an eye on her – if there is more stuff you need to do that is?" I let out a slight laugh, amazed at his generosity, at the absolute difference to the stereotypical picture I had painted in my head.

"Okay – hope you like CBeebies," I replied in turn and with a flash of a smile, I led the way downstairs.

As good as his word, he kept our daughter entertained all afternoon whilst I pottered around, cleaning and tidying, writing a couple of press releases and finally when the rain stopped strapping her into the buggy and taking her for a brief walk with him, playing at happy families.

It felt odd to have him so close, so docile and accepting of the situation and I was torn between joy at his easy acceptance of the situation and worried that his immediate love for Lara might spur him on to make selfish decisions about her future. He stood in the doorway as I bathed her and then left us alone for our last feed of the day and slipped off downstairs.

It was dark by the time she was settled, the winter nights drawing in and he had turned lights on. There was a bottle of wine open on the table in the kitchen and a poured glass standing next to it. I picked it up and wandered into the living room stopping in surprise. He was sitting in the armchair again, sipping from the glass his face in shadow as only a small table lap was turned on.

"Did you bring this wine?" I asked holding the glass up. He nodded and I gave a brief smile before taking a sip. It was nice, a far cry from the cheap plonk I occasionally treated myself to. The taste fortified me. "Ric, I just wanted to say..."

"What Izzy?" He didn't let me finish and I blanched at his tone of voice, sharp, unlike the gentle way he had been speaking today.

"Don't be angry, please."

"Angry? Izzy, I am fucking furious!" He stood up, his tall frame casting menacing shadows around the small room. "Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner? I could have helped, could have been there? Shit, I could have known my daughter six months earlier."

"You couldn't have been there – you've been on tour. Tell me how you could have been there for us?" His shoulders sagged at my acidic question.

"Maybe not in person, but I could have supported you. What the hell have you been living on these past few months? Fresh air? Government handouts?"

"They aren't too bad for a single mother," my words came out tartly. "But no, Annabel and Peter Cheyne rent this house for me and I have an allowance in the form of the rent you pay on my old flat. I have to live carefully, but don't worry; your daughter doesn't go without." I was quivering with anger myself, riled by his accusations. Damn it, he hadn't changed at all, just as domineering as ever. Now that he was back he would fix it all for us – yeah right!

"I can tell that," he replied quietly. "It is obvious she is happy and settled. She's beautiful." He paused, maybe aware that he had overstepped the mark. "Why do the Cheyne's rent this house for you?" He paused. "Oh god, they think Lara is the Blonde Buffon's child – promise me they don't think that?" I sighed, crumpling on to the sofa in a heap.

"No Ric, they don't, at least Annabel and Tatiana know the truth and I don't think Peter cares either way – Ralph sure as hell doesn't. Couldn't wait to get the hell out of dodge, dumped me at his parents when the pregnancy got complicated and buggered off to a job in Dubai. He's never contacted me since even though I haven't told him he's not the father, it shows him up for the callous man he is." The cushions next to me sank slightly with his weight as he sat down.

"Last Christmas, when you were in hospital – that was due to the pregnancy?" I nodded. "Shit, I am such a fool – why didn't I recognise the symptoms?" He chastised himself more then me. "You were throwing up all over the place, you got fatter and tearful and then you were in hospital. I kept thinking you had some terminal illness, cancer or something. It is so damn obvious in hindsight!" He smacked his hand down against his knee and I stared at it with a degree of fascination. The long fingers wrapped around the worn denim, a chunky metal watch strapped to his wrist and tangled up with its strap was a bracelet that I had given him. It was dirtier then I remembered, a few threads slightly frayed, attesting to its permanence – it didn't look as if it had been removed in a long time.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. I didn't know for ages – kept thinking I had some bug."

"Did you ever plan to tell me?"

"Yes, several times – but as you once said Murphy 's Law was against us." I took another sip of the wine, the soft rich flavour slipping down my throat, relaxing me, softening the rigidity in my limbs. I sunk a little further into the chair and gave a deep sigh, my hand falling to my side, grazing against his. He picked it up in his palm, squeezing it. But his touch was electric and I sat up again too quickly. "Supper!" I turned and looked at him. "What do you feel like for supper? Is pasta okay?" I was back to the burbling fool again and I caught the wistful smile he gave as the sensible Izzy slipped away again. But I couldn't let him close, didn't want to give him one iota of encouragement and think that he could just waltz back into my life – that was far too dangerous.

Instead I busied myself serving a simple meal, leftovers repackaged as a pasta dish. We sat at the table in the kitchen in muted light, talking little and enjoying the rest of the bottle of wine that he had supplied. It was hardly fine dining, but it was the best that I could offer and he seemed to lap it up. "Sorry it's nothing more elaborate," I apologised as I cleared his empty plate. "You're probably use to fine restaurants and posh food now."

"Hardly!" He snorted at the thought. "You eat whatever you can lay your hands on whenever it is served. We occasionally had some catering staff on tour with us, in Australia and the US, but it is a lot of sandwiches, even more Pizza and takeout. I really missed good home cooking. You are an excellent cook Izzy, always have been."

"Yeah well, don't raise the bar too much; I don't have anything for pudding."

"That's all right." He paused and in the dim light, I caught the gleam of his eyes staring at me as I scraped the plates clean and loaded them into the dishwasher. "We haven't really done much talking have we?" His voice was calmer again, mellowed by the food and wine or maybe he was making an effort to control his temper.

"S'pose not. What do you want to talk about? I am all right as long as stick to the weather and aspects of child rearing." I was nervous and it came out as sarcastic humour.

"How about you; Lara, how I might fit into your lives?" He shrugged. "Sit down and have another glass of wine, the washing up can wait." I hesitated and then removed a block of cheap cheese from the fridge and paired it with some crackers, sitting down again at the table, looking at the linoleum table covering, picking at a bit of dried on weetabix with my fingernail. He was right, this was a conversation we needed to have – it wasn't one that I wanted though for it could only be painful. "Isabella, look at me," his voice was gentle but firm. "Please," he added and I reluctantly lifted my head from the regard of the table cloth. He grabbed my hand across the width of the wood before I could remove them and held it caught between his hands. "Why didn't you tell me when you found out?"

"I wanted to Ric, but I didn't find out until, until..." My teeth started chattering again as I dredged up memories I had squashed down and buried. "It goes back further Ric – back to the start of when Cluinn was signed, when you all started; getting told what to do and what to wear, when they created Phantom for you and Devlin Summers started bossing you and me around." I gulped. "I hardly saw you, doing your degree and trying to record and you were always so tired and short tempered. I felt pushed out." The tears were starting to prick and I felt the warmth of his hand gently rubbing my fingers, the press of his ring into my hand.

"I remember, they were manic times, everything got out of hand and I didn't know which commitments to fulfil first, so tried to do them all." He spoke softly. "I am afraid that as you were the least demanding you probably got the smallest amount of me and I was pretty thinly shared around. But Izzy, please don't think for one moment I didn't appreciate everything you did. God, you made it possible for me to live, to achieve what we did when we did." I gave a weak smile through the tears that had started to run down my face.

"At Glastonbury, when you were so sick..."

"My focus was you – you were the one that got me through that nightmare of a performance. Shit Izzy, I could barely stand upright. And you stood up to Dev, got me home – nursed me through it. I was so grateful, so amazed at the care and love you showed I seriously thought I should ask you to marry me then and there." I gave a slight gasp at his admission.

"So why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I?" He gave a short laugh. "Because I was scared you would throw it back in my face, worried that I wasn't what you really wanted. Hey, success was beckoning, but all I had to offer was a CD of music, a possibility and nearly thirty grand of debt – why should I have saddled you with that?" Spoken in his logical way, I could see the reasoning behind it; understand that the moment hadn't been right.

"But you were so bloody stoic all the time Ric, never said you loved me, never showed that you did!"

"Showed!" He drew his hand out of the grasp and as I did so I realised we had been clinging to each other as if it were the only thing keeping us from drowning. "It was all for you Izzy, every fucking note, every lyric – both the first album and this one."

"Bollocks. Your latest album wasn't for me at all. Carthesis means to get over someone Richard and you quoted me as inspiration – you wrote those songs as a way of getting over breaking up with me. That isn't showing someone you loved them – that is finalising the end of a relationship."

"I didn't mean it like that. Isabella, the title was decided after we had written the dedications. The guys ragged me silly, said they could tell exactly how I had been feeling about you at the time I penned every song. And you know what? They were right. 'Setting Sun' is about trying to move on. 'Chasing Shadows' is all the regret I felt, still feel. 'Hearts on Fire' what the fuck do you think that's about?" He stopped, chest heaving with emotion, but I wasn't moved.

"And what about 'Fighting 'til the End'? And of course let's not forget 'Carthesis' as well, or 'Numbness'? Yeah, I can tell you missed me a lot." I raged back at him, failing to notice the smile that started to widen his mouth, forgetting in my anger that I was quoting the titles of all his songs back at him, obviously knew them all intimately. As I spoke, he stood up and moved around the table and crouched down next to me.

"Izzy," he shook his head as if it would clear his thoughts. "I promise that you were always the most important thing in my life and everything I did was trying to deal with that, trying to prove that I could get by without you, but it is a lie."

"Yeah, well you know what Richard; I can get by without you!" Unfortunately my voice trembled as I delivered my verdict and instead of the words wounding as I had intended, they seemed to amuse him.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" I nodded, trying to put on an act of bravado, except he leaned forward, stood up slightly and kissed me, long and hard. Mind drenching, deep, his tongue wriggling in between my lips, those large calloused hands, cupping my face, kissing me as if it were the act of a dying man. Resistance was futile and it took me a good few seconds to gather the wits that had fled and pull away from him, panting slightly as my hormones rushed around, demanding to know why I had stopped something so wonderful.

"I'm sure," I hissed, at the very same moment a little voice inside starting shouting about my ability to lie. But I was determined that I wouldn't fall out of the frying pan and into the fire. Tatiana's warnings had been well heeded; I wasn't going to fall back into this man's arm. One half cooked apology and a kiss didn't give him a place in my bed. There was far too much past history, far too much that needed to be discussed and agreed and I feared that the wine and intimacy had got to us. Continue on his present course and he would end up in my bed, making me no better then a common groupie and probably given in to him with as little resistance.

He straightened up and looked at me, bewilderment, anger and confusion mingling on his face, lust making his breathing heavy. He shook his head as if to clear the confusion and looked down at me, before rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm sorry Izzy." He paused. "I guess that's it then. Are you going to ask me to leave now?"


	49. Chapter 49

**Thank you for all your very kind and informative reviews of late - they really help as it makes me reconsider my characters, think about connections that I have not realised or problems I may have forgotten about. This story plays on a loop in my head of late, like a TV screen I can't quite see in the corner of mind, hence the quick updates as I seem to know what is going to happen before I have even started the chapter - the characters are writing it themselves. So enjoy another offering and please let me know what you think.**

Chapter 49

It was always difficult getting up to my daughter's demanding wail in the early hours. It was even more difficult that morning, having had a late night and too much wine. I staggered down the hallway to her room feeling haggard, my hair a bird's nest, attesting to the restless night. "Hello darling," I greeted her on a yawn, scooping her from the cot and staggering back to my bed with her. I lay down on my side, letting her lie next to me and feed, exhaustion getting the better of me as I half dozed.

Unlike the early days, I no longer breastfed all the time and had thankfully managed to wean her onto the bottle during the day so that Tatiana and Annabel could share in the chore, but her morning and night feeds were still from me. I valued our shared moments, liked the intimacy and bond that it gave us. Sometimes I could only wish she would sleep a little bit longer though – half six in the morning was quite a rude awakening.

Being October the days were drawing in and sunrise was increasingly later. Currently my daughter was engaged in a race to see who could be up first and that morning she had nearly succeeded. Daylight was only starting to break through the gap in my curtains as we lay there and I could feel sleep tugging back down at my eyelids as I flopped against the pillow ruminating on the previous day.

"Izzy?" The voice was soft and I opened my eyes and lifted my head to look at the man hesitantly standing in my doorway, a cup of tea in each hand. "I made you some tea!"

"Oh hey, thanks," I croaked blushing. I lay there my boob hanging out of the nursing bra, stomach flopped over onto the mattress – it wasn't a pretty sight. In contrast he was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, his long legs sticking out the end and muscular biceps bulging out the armholes, a tattoo peeking out from under the short sleeve; glasses on and his hair falling in an artful tangle around his face – not quite as much of a nest as mine, but nearly. He took a step into the room, placing the cup down on the bedside cabinet, before retreating to the relatively neutral ground of the doorway.

I had let him stay the night. Partly worried that he had drunk too much to legally drive and I did not want to be responsible for Phantom losing his licence or worse and also because deep down I was scared that if I sent him away I would not see him again, at least not on such neutral friendly ground. Instead I feared Tatiana's dire warnings might come true and I would only ever see him again as Lara's parent. Therefore with stern warnings to behave himself, I magnanimously offered him the spare bed for the night, gave him a clean towel and went to bed closing the door behind me, a signal that he was not too try and cross the threshold.

However sleep had not come easily and I had tossed and turned, finally opening my door, hating to have a barrier between Lara and me, not use to shutting her out. I could hear his rhythmic breathing, not quite a snore, even and clear. There was a certain irony, not lost on me that we started out our relationship in separate beds and I use to lie awake at night then listening to him, desiring him – two years later the situation was the same; although I was even more reluctant to give in to his charms though.

We hadn't managed to talk, not properly. The passion that we always held for each other had not disappeared and my traitorous hormones demanded that I strip off and jump into bed with him, morals and future be dammed. But I didn't want to sell myself so cheaply, wasn't willing to accept anything other then being the most important person in his life (tied only with his daughter) and until I had some very important and no doubt difficult explanations and promises I wasn't budging an inch – and he was not allowed to get his hands on my body. I wasn't sure if I should inform him of the new state of play or not.

"Go back to bed Ric," I said wearily. "We get up very slowly in the mornings; I don't have the energy to be quick.

"Well, when you are finished feeding I don't mind getting her up, giving her breakfast. You can have a lie in." He shrugged. I laughed, more in amazement then anything else.

"You want to feed a small child breakfast and change a morning nappy!" He nodded, frowning slightly at the disbelief in my voice. "Be my guest then. She has a weetabix and apple puree for breakfast, spoons in the steriliser and then clean her up, ears, eyes, neck – gets so much food caught in her neck. Um, I'll get some clothes out for you and she usually poos about ten minutes after eating, so don't be too quick to change and dress her afterwards. You can use the full fat milk in the fridge for her cereal, but if she wants a drink the formula is on the worksurface and there are sterilised bottles next to it – don't use the ones in the washing up bowl though. Got all that?" I barked out the instructions, falling into baby mode without thinking, not caring that he might not understand all the complicated rituals of bringing up a small child. My brain just concentrated on another half hours sleep. Delicious.

She had finished her morning feed by this time and lay there, contentedly, falling off my breast, so that it hung out of my top. I could feel the heat of Richard's gaze as he looked at it and wearily covered it up – hardly a thing to ignite sexual excitement, more of a milch cow. However I pushed myself to sitting, handed Lara over to her father and lumbered into her room, cup of tea in hand (how blissful) where I pulled out the necessary clothes for her to wear.

He followed me, Lara tucked into the crook of his arm, my daughter smiling away at me – the ease with which he held her annoying; so easily did he seem to take on this parenting role. In contrast to my cack handed efforts of her early days and the indecision and apprehension I had approached child rearing with, it annoyed me that he seemed to be such a natural. Of course this was not the first time – as he had said he had been involved with children, his own brother for starters and it was more the reawakening of lost skills then learning them anew, like most first time fathers. But even still it was just another thing he approached with ease. I had forgotten that he did not seem to suffer the indecision and uncertainty that most of the human race had to deal with, myself especially.

"Go back to bed Izzy," he repeated as I stood in the middle of the room, fussing with jeans, vest and sweater, socks (that never stayed on) and nappies. "You look exhausted!" I pulled a face half in agreement, knowing that the grey nightshirt I wore, coupled with woolly bedsocks was not exactly passion inducing.

"Yeah okay." It was wrench to leave him standing there with Lara, knowing full way that I had rather left him dangling – partly in revenge, throw him the baby and see how well he would handle it. But an invitation to be horizontal with my eyes shut was not to be dismissed and I lumbered back to bed, crawling under the duvet and closing my eyes. Of course as luck would have it, sleep had decided that it wouldn't come back and so I lay there, listening, ears sharp to any sign of distress from either party downstairs.

My little house was so small, the bathroom downstairs off the kitchen and three tiny bedrooms upstairs that the sound carried around the house. I could hear every word of the one sided conversation Richard had with his daughter, who must have been sitting there, letting out an indignant squawk every so often. "Right, Weetabix – and this goo must be the puree – yum. Okay open wide, delicious. Shit – that went everywhere!" I found myself giggling, visualising the exact scenario that was being played out downstairs. I hadn't told Ric that his daughter liked spitting out weetabix almost more then she enjoyed eating it.

His voice was a gentle grumble as he continued on the chore of feeding and dressing and I lay there smiling and laughing softly at the commentary that was punctuated by sung phrases and words, occasionally hummed pieces of music. As the sun rose higher, above the roofline of the houses opposite and straight in through my bedroom window, I eased myself out of bed, washed and dressed and went downstairs to see what the consequences of my morning lie in were.

I found them in the living room at the front of the house, lying in a sunbeam. He was on his back lifting her up on his arms and lowering her down, causing her to giggle with delight, trying to snatch the glasses off his face with her small hands. They were both dressed in a fashion, but a quick glance in the kitchen attested to the fact that although food had been eating, no clearing up done.

"Another cup of tea or coffee?" I asked quietly having stood and watched them for a few minutes, the happy scene causing my heart to ache.

"Coffee, god, yes please!" He sat up quickly and came to his feet with ease. My daughter clapped her hands in delight and then lent out of his arms, determined to get into mine. I gathered her up with delight, hugging her warmly. It was lovely to have some time off, even nicer to get her back at the end of it.

He stood next to me, smiling down at his daughter before looking up at me. I had forgotten how glasses magnified his eyes and they flashed blue and serious at me. "Enjoy your morning?" I asked trying to break the intensity of the moment.

"Yeah, it was fine – bit messy. Found a new way of lifting weights, more fun then pumping iron anyway." He paused. "Nice lie in?"

"Heavenly, thanks for that." I paused, not sure what to say; conversation awkward after last night. It was made even more difficult having to carry it out over Lara's head. "I am just going to put Madam down for a quick twenty minutes, would you put the kettle on please?" He nodded and moved aside so I could climb up the stairs, settling my daughter again, who was tired after her early start.

He had made himself at home when I came back down, the coffee brewing and the washing-up at least stacked next to the sink. "I'd better go home," he offered as I entered the kitchen. His back was to me and he was leaning forward against the worksurface, pushing down hard with his hands; I could see the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort. A thousand retorts and excuses sprang to my lips – I didn't want him to leave, especially if he was doing so because he thought he had outstayed his welcome.

"Right now? Is there something you have to do?" I kept my voice level, trying to get the right balance between grabbing need and a cold shoulder. He turned and faced me at my question and I could see the cloud in his eyes. He reached up under his glasses and wiped them and I frowned. Surely he hadn't been crying? I had hardly seen him cry at all in the time I had known him and here he was teary twice in under twenty-four hours. Was this the emotion his daughter bought out in him?

"Apart from a lot of washing? Not at the moment – it all starts again in three weeks," he forced a smile. "Just don't want to outstay my welcome, that's all." I met his eyes levelly.

"You're not, promise. I would tell you if you were Ric. I just want to talk, rather then anything... else."

"And I would rather do both!" He offered it up as a joke, but if fell flat, making the atmosphere in the room even more strained. I went and stood next to him, pouring two cups of coffee and sat down at the table. He joined me on the other side, an exact replay of last night. "What do you want me to do Izzy?" He asked levelly.

"I want you to explain?" I cried out in frustration. "I want some answers Richard because I am confused. What I don't want to do is sweep it all under the carpet where it can fester away quietly. We could pick up exactly where we left off, but all that would happen is the next time one of us feels hard done by all that anger, resentment and pain will come welling up again. And Lara is now around to get hurt as well."

"Okay." He took a sip of his coffee before fixing me with a steely gaze. "Do you still love me Isabella?"

"What sort of question is that? That is unfair and loaded Richard, too bloody unfair."

"Will it help if I answer it first then?"

"What; do you still love yourself?" Anger made me petulant and he sighed and propping his head on his hands.

"Not exactly constructive is it. We won't get very far if you keep hurling insults at me." I snorted.

"Hurling insults! Maybe if you stopped lecturing me then I wouldn't feel the need to take aim." I paused, realising that I had automatically fallen into old habits. Yes, he had asked a rather loaded question, but that was all, he hadn't been lecturing, in fact he had done very little of anything, maybe the fault did lie with me in this instance. "Okay, sorry – that wasn't very grown up was it?" A slight smirk from his mouth answered my question. "Tell you what, when Lara wakes up I will go and drop her off with Annabel and then we can go for a walk, discuss this in the open – shout a little more freely maybe? Good idea?" He nodded.

And so half an hour later we were bundled into his car, the usual paraphernalia that went with looking after a small child pushed into the change bag and his daughter, strapped into her infant carrier lovingly fastened into the back seat. It was nice to have a second pair of hands to help me carry it all to the car, having someone else to heft up the considerable weight of an infant in their safety chair.

"This is a nice car," I said sitting in the roomy interior, appreciating the warmth that came from the leather seats.

"Don't get too use to it, it's only rented," he replied, pulling out of the parking space and following my instructions to Annabel, his eyes darting around the leafy roads and hills that surrounded the town I lived in. Ten minutes later we were in the countryside, the houses taking up huge plots of land, walls and gates keeping people out, possessing the countryside as their own. I rushed inside the large house, leaving Richard in the car, the silence heavy and oppressive, both of us knowing that we had to break it and talk.

Annabel accepted Lara with open arms. She had taken on the honorary title of Granny, even though we both knew it was not true, however there was no one else to place the name on and this kind woman did so much for me. She did not comment on the large black car idling outside or the fact that I didn't stay for a chat, but rushed out again, grabbing a spare pair of large wellingtons from the masses in the boot room – I think they may have belonged to the gardener.

We parked at the Devil's Punchbowl, looking at the scenery that dropped away in a steep circular valley, to the North Downs beyond. Ric stood at the head of the car gazing away into the distance for a moment, immune to my shouts that were whipped away by the wind. His posture was brooding and with his dark wavy hair tied back off his face, it was as if he were re-enacting a scene from Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff on the moors. He had glued his prosthetic onto his face, put more contacts in and I felt a little more removed from him then when he had been lying on my living room floor. "Ric, I have some wellies for you, it might be muddy after all the rain!" I tried again and this time he turned and listened, walked to the back of the car, swapping his thin trainers for the large wellingtons, digging his hands into the pockets of his anorak.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the land falling away as the track passed down the side of the natural amphitheatre in the land. "They say the devil created this by throwing mud at Thor," I said as much to break the deafening silence as anything else.

He laughed slightly at the old and suspicious explanation, but did not say anything in reply until we had gone on a few paces, the sandy path changing and becoming muddier as we descended. "Have you thought anymore about the question I asked earlier?" His voice was subdued and gruff, the words delivered without looking at me, instead at his feet encased in the dirty green rubber boots. I didn't reply but splashed through a large muddy puddle instead. "Well have you?" He pressed.

"I don't know what you want me to say Ric?" It was such a loaded difficult question. "Either way I will hurt both of us with my answer. I could tell by the scowl on his face that it wasn't an acceptable response. "I can say very truthfully that I did love you, loved you an awful lot. Does that help?"

"A little bit." He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and with no more then a glance at me he continued. "I loved you too, didn't realise it at first. I freely admit that when I came and sat at your door, it wasn't because I loved you and wanted to be with you, it was because I needed somewhere to stay and I was attracted to you and I knew you to be feisty and I also knew that you didn't come with ties, excess family, siblings and aunts and uncles." He shrugged and bit his lips slightly, possibly embarrassed by the harsh words.

"That's very truthful."

"Yeah and cruel isn't it? When I speak it like that in the open it makes me realise how calculated it was. But Izzy, I felt like that for maybe a few hours, until you took me back to my old lodgings and stood up to that awful landlady, then offered me a room – it disarmed me totally and I started to realise what a kind and giving person you were."

"You still didn't love me though did you?"

"No," he looked up and fixed me with a gaze, pleading in its depths. "I fell in love with you before I realised that I did. It was gradual and then when you came home and were so upset because Alanya and Jim were there and you challenged that I could teach you to sing."

"Yeah, I remember that evening. You were as stoic and unyielding as ever."

"And you were..." he gave a snort of laughter and shrugged his shoulders. "Magnificent," he offered after a pause. "You never ever back down from a challenge do you? And I couldn't help but bait you to see if you would rise."

"Immature," I flung out at him. And then the next day when you, when you..." The emotions realised that there was a chink in my armour and started to well up. I was angry with myself, how dare they come out as this early stage, when what we were discussing was fairly neutral, a past hurt that had been resolved. If it was bad this early on, it was only going to get worse.

"We discussed that a long time ago. Are you still holding it against me, or has it just come out in the list of grievances?" His tone was bitter. "Okay, let me say it again. I have never treated a woman like that before or since and it was probably because I had just started to realise how much I wanted and needed you in my life and you blocked me out, were the first girl to every say 'no' to me. I reacted with anger and I hurt you. I am sorry, but you know that!" He ground the words out and put on a burst of speed, striding past me down the hill, anger spurring on his exercise so that I had to run to catch him up.

"Ric, wait," I scampered after him, my boots sliding slightly on the slippery mud. I caught up with him, hooking my arms through his as much to stabilise myself on the slide down the hill as to try and show him that I was not angry about that incident anymore. Whatever the outcome of this discussion, I wanted us to remain on friendly terms, for Lara's sake at least. He looked down at my hand in surprise.

"Do you still wish to continue in chronological order? Is there a list of all my wrongdoing that you wish me to answer for? What did I do next that was wrong – oh yes, forced you to sing in our concert. Selfish, thoughtless, yes and yes again. And then what did I do wrong after that – no, I was quite good for a while."

"Stop it!" I shouted the words, the wind whipping them away. "I have never held the singing against you – ever. You gave me back a gift that is amazing. I sing to Lara all the time and she loves music, absolutely loves it. I even considered joining a choir I missed singing so much."

"Why don't you audition for crapstar, be Simon Cowell's latest signing?" His words were sarcastic before he softened slightly, the words getting through. "Lara does love music doesn't she? I was singing to her today and you could just see her whole face light up, it was like it all made sense to her." He hefted another sigh and stopped, putting a hand on my shoulder, looking down, his eyes strangely gentle when only moments ago they had been clouded with confusion and pain. "For the sake of Lara, I will be thankful forever Izzy. I cannot express how much it means to me that I have a child! Suddenly a lot of things I was questioning make sense. She is wonderful, she really is – you have been amazing bringing her up by yourself and I promise that whatever happens I will support you and try and share in everything from now on." I gave a slight sob at his words, so kind and helpful, but not what I wanted to hear for they suggested that we would be bringing up Lara together as her parents, but separately as people.

"Thank you Richard, that means a lot to me. It hasn't been easy." I swallowed hard. "But I need to explain why I made the decisions I did, even if I regret them now." It was my turn to sigh now. "Look, we explained why things went wrong in our lives, you did try and be Superman for a while and do everything. What I hold against you is the way you used to blame me for your exhaustion, your frustration when I had no hand in it. You can be quite vicious in your arguing and you often verbally hurt me – a lot!"

"For which I am sorry. If it's any consolation, I have learnt to control my temper, grown patient in my old age. Had to really as I've encountered some real idiots around the world, dealt with so many people and red tape. And besides, you often gave as good as you got when we argued and I can't help but be argumentative; it's the red hair," he quipped with a snort, making me look at the hair on his head. It was still dark, but obviously the heat of countries that had toured through had highlighted the natural auburn."

"You don't have to dye your hair anymore?"

"No, that was in the early days when Dev said jump and we obeyed. We've got a track record now, proved ourselves, make money for the label – make a hell of a lot of money for the record label – they pretty much let us do whatever we want." He snorted slightly. "I forgot about all that, Dev telling you to call me Phantom and arguing all the time because he was so domineering and I was too scared to really stand up to him."

"Hang on a sec, you were scared of Dev? Since when, you always stood up to him?"

"Okay, not scared exactly, how could I be scared of a five foot nothing cockney? I was scared of the faith he had in the band's ability to play and my capability to write music. I was worried that he would get pissed off and chuck us out on the street owing the label loads of money that I had no way of repaying. So yeah, I did tend to go with the flow – even when I realised he was bullying you and me – didn't want to rock the boat. And then, after Glasto when we had proved that people wanted to see us, liked us as a band, it got easier then – he started to back off."

"And what's he like now?"

"Hardly ever see him. He appeared for the Brits and the MTV awards and was all hugging and back slapping, but most of the day to day stuff is dealt with by other people." I felt slightly reassured by his words – knowing that Dev wasn't around. I hated that man, hated the influence he used to have on the decisions the group had to make. But at the end of the day, the problem did not lie with Devlin Summers. Instead we were skirting around the big issue, ignoring the huge elephant that was travelling along with us.

Silence reigned again as we continued on the walk, the pathway levelling out and entering into a copse of trees, the pathway a little drier as we changed back to sand under our feet. "Why did you lie to me?" The question was blurted out with no tact, no forewarning – not as I had meant it to be said, not as rehearsed a million times in my head. He stopped and fixed me with a stare.

"When?"

"When you fed me a load of bollocks, about not wanting to inconvenience me by making me fly up to Scotland for T in the Park. You just wanted to shag groupies didn't you? Were you scared that if I found out I would chuck you out the flat, is that why?"

"I didn't shag anyone at T Izzy. I never have."

"Yes you did?" I hissed out, venom suddenly lacing my words. "Angus told me, you shagged someone and cut your shoulder – I saw the scar Richard - where she pushed you against something sharp. Can't have been having sex in bed, or is that not where you take groupies?"

"I fell against the drum riser because I couldn't see and was a bit drunk," he stated the words levelly, tonelessly as if I were slightly stupid, or hard of hearing. "I told Jim and Mike, one of our security guards that a woman did it because they were having a go at me for not behaving as a lead singer should. Apparently I should be the balls of the group – I personally prefer being the brains – but that is beside the point. Never did I even kiss a girl when I went up to Scotland that summer. All I wanted to do was complete my dissertation and get the hell back to you!" I listened to the words, a small well of hope starting to appear deep inside me, but I couldn't look at him; didn't want to see any possibility of mistruth. "Look at me Izzy, fucking well look at me!" He shouted the last words because I was staring at the soil beneath my feet, unable to raise my eyes to meet his face, didn't want him to see the tears that had started to stream, see how much it had hurt me and how much I cared.

"Don't shout at me," I hastily wiped the moisture from my eyes and strode on ahead, trying to regain my composure. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes!" He bit out. "If you don't believe me, ask Angus, he knows the facts now because he was the one that thought otherwise and I know he is the one that told you."

"You're right, he did. He's been a good friend though, kept an eye out for me."

"Me too!" He was by my side in a flash, his arm around my shoulder, trying to draw me in, although I held myself rigid next to him. "I would be a complete mess if it weren't for Mr Mullhay that much I guarantee. You wanna' know what we do most nights after a concert?"

"Get drunk, party, and chat up women?" I pulled away from his grasp and watched as his arm dropped down by his side, almost lifeless.

"Play Scrabble actually. Usually too worked up to go to bed straight away, don't want to get smashed, bored with cards – so Gus and I play Scrabble, or do crosswords, or Sudoku. Really rebellious hey?"

"That's not what the gossip columns say, or the articles in mag..." I stopped myself, realising my faux pas; admitting that I had obviously taken an interest in what he had been doing, in what people were saying. He gave a little smile but made no comment.

"They take half truths and weave stories Iz or people meet you once and believe it is your overall personality. Or sometimes people think you act like that as they expect you to. Sandy parties, like he always has and he still gets through women as if they were water, so a lot of people assume that we all behave in the same way and it's not true. Gus could apply for sainthood and Jim has been faithful to Alanya since they got married – amazingly enough."

"And what about you Ric, do you?" I flung out at him, confused and wrong footed by his admission and by my mistake, not wanting to hear what life was like on the road for him, scared at what he would admit.

"Do I what? Get through women – no." He fell into another silence as we negotiated a kissing gate, going through it and turning, to let me through. I made a move but he pulled it towards him, slamming it shut against the opening so my way was blocked.

"Can you open the gate please?" I ground out; suddenly thinking this walk was a bad idea. We still had one hell of a hill to climb back to the car and I was enough of an emotional and physical wreck already. I tugged at the gate, but he held it fast.

"No, I will let you pass once you've heard me out. You can't run away from this Izzy and I know it's what you are scared to ask me, so I will say it. No, I am not a womanising rock singer despite what happened. Yes, you caught me having a blow job on the tour bus at the V festival. What I promise you totally and utterly is that it was a set-up, which I was forced to do and apart from crossing my legs I didn't have much defence. She had been at it for all of five minutes when you discovered us."

"How horrible for you," I replied sarcastically trying to tug the gate open again still to no avail as he held it tightly shut with his strong arms.

"Izzy, Mike and Jim tied me up in the bus and let the girl do what she wanted. In retaliation for being stuck up and drinking a whole bottle of Jim's whiskey that cost him, or rather his father about five grand. It was a stupid act of revenge that ended badly." He inhaled deeply. "Jim and I came to blow over it, I nearly quit the band I hated him so much afterwards."

"So why didn't you explain?" I choked out with a sob. "Why didn't you call me and force me to listen, or get Jim to do the same? Maybe if I had realised, if I had known? Why didn't you chase after me when I ran from the bus?"

"You left me to cut myself free with the penknife Izzy? They had restrained me with cable ties and it took a bloody long time, I nearly sliced my wrist at one point. By the time I was free and gave chase you had gone. I went and beat up James instead! And then when I thought I could go and explain back at home you waltzed in with Ralph and said you were engaged. What was I suppose to do, beat him up? Shout the truth at you in front of him? I made what I believed to be a noble retreat – guessed that despite what you had told me; Tatiana was right and you had been carrying on with him, hence the reason you dived into his arms. Figured the best man must have won and retreated to lick my wounds." His voice had turned into a painful hiss, his eyes bright with unshed tears, like the ones running down my face as I recalled the horrible moments bought to life with his words.

"I-I," I gulped. "I found out I was pregnant Ric, that Friday and went up to V to tell you. Found you tied up and accepting a blow job and ran. I was scared and vulnerable enough, without knowing you were being unfaithful. And then Angus told me it wasn't the first time."

"He was wrong on both counts; he only said what he _thought_ to be true!"

"It didn't matter Ric, I saw what I saw and made my own conclusions, which let's face it were fairly normal under the circumstances. And to make it worse I had been worried about telling you because I thought you would be cross and angry – dumping a pregnancy on you just as you were starting to succeed as musicians, last thing you needed. Part of me was scared you might demand an abortion!"

"What!" The look on his face made me realise in a flash I couldn't have been more wrong. "Isabella, how could you even begin to think that? If someone had made a fifteen year old girl have an abortion, then I would never have lived. I'm a Catholic Izzy, it goes against everything I believe in – I would never ever have demanded that of you. We would have found a way around it, maybe it would have been difficult but we would have found a way!" He took a deep shuddering sigh. "But with those doubts rolling around in your mind and then discovering me with my dick in a girl's mouth you believed there would be no way I would be a faithful boyfriend and father, did you?" The words came out pained with the realisation of the situation and I nodded, unable to speak as I was shaking and crying so much. "Please don't cry Izzy, please don't!" He lifted his hands from holding the gate and wiped them under my eyes, brushing away the tears before bending forward and kissing me lightly on the lips. "Don't cry," he whispered again, his breath warm on my face. I pulled back; not wanting to loose it all on a kiss and he stood back and opened the gate for me so I could walk through.

"Just because it is a kissing gate, doesn't mean you have to kiss me," I spoke tartly, trying to cover up my true feelings and inner turmoil.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

"The thing is Ric," I said trying to regain an even footing in our conversation as I strode up the pathway that had started to climb again. It was a fairly fruitless task for tears still pricked at my eyes and my emotions were open and raw. "You caused me a lot of wrong and I took all that and compounded it. I went and saw a man and lied and told him that he was the father of our child because I was so scared and angry. Your wrong made me do wrong and it all boils into one huge bloody mess – one that I am still entangled in to a certain extent. In some ways I am lucky that Ralph was such a weakling, that he did take so little interest because otherwise you might have had to fight another man for custody of your child!"

"Did Ralph ever suspect that Lara wasn't his?"

"I don't know – but he never took much interest in anyone apart from himself. He had a dreadful coke habit and a big ego that increased whenever he indulged."

"And you chose that man to be the father?" His voice was incredulous.

"I had nowhere else to go. At the time I felt trapped. And then as things settled down, as emotions no longer ruled supreme, I realised what I had done and it was a very hard treadmill to stop. The only thing that gave me pause was that song you sent me."

"Which song?" He paused walking up the hill, his breathing heavier with the exertion, although not as flushed as I was. He obviously did not remember for he frowned as if trying to recall what he might have emailed or posted me.

"I've lost my positivity, I'm positively lost. I thought the path was obvious it's not." I sung to him, watching him flinch at the words as he remembered. I continued. "Resigned myself to failed potential, the wind exits the sails,"

"Please don't go on Izzy," the request came out as a harsh whisper which I ignored.

"Don't say the pain will fade tomorrow, the last thing that I feel will be today, hey." I stopped singing and spoke the next line. "This is how it feels, this is how it feels, this is how it feels," I shouted at him. "This is how it feels!" I hit him then, all the anger, frustration and hurt coming to a head as I spoke the words he had sent to me, smacking his chest with my hands repeatedly, the words coming out as fragmented sobs until they no longer made sense. His warm arms closed around me, hugging me tightly to his chest and I felt the weight of his head resting on me, the touch of his lips on my hair.

"That is how rock bottom I felt Izzy, how totally and utterly tortured I was. I had lost you and I didn't know how to get you back."

"So you wrote a song that put all the blame on me! I didn't do anything except try and stand by you and love you and then when it didn't work out you turned around and accused me of taking everything away." I sniffed, slightly reluctant to leave the warm embrace of his arms. He kept touching me, kept trying to hug and kiss me; possibly realising that whenever he did so my insides would change to molten liquid and a little bit of my resistance would melt away.

"It was easier to blame you then myself."

"And at the end of the day none of it would have happened if you hadn't accused me of being unfaithful." The words were like a cold shower on the warmth of our embrace and I felt him stiffen against me as he remembered, moving away slightly.

"I did, didn't I?" His words came out dull and dead. "There you go, it is all my fault after all." He stuck his hands in his pockets and started trudging up the hill again, not elaborating on the comment. I was forced to lengthen my stride to keep up, feeling the heat rise with the exercise, the slope becoming a steep incline as it led back up to the car park.

"Ric," I gasped, feeling the air wheeze in my lungs. I was not as fit as I pretended to be and definatly not as fit as the man in front who must have pumped iron and exercised most days. He didn't stop but slowed his pace down slightly, skirting a large patch of mud that had formed on the hillside as the clay once again appeared on the path. I ignored the detour and ploughed on through, slipping and sliding as my wellingtons sort purchase on the gradient. It was a hopeless and stupid thing to do because I couldn't walk through it and ended up sliding over, put my hand out to save myself as I fell which caused me to loose my balance even more, my knee painfully striking a sharp rock hidden in the dirty soil as I went down, covering one side of me in mud. "Ric," I whimpered, extracting myself from the puddle, realising that I was caked down my leg and arm, the sleeve of my coat and my jeans through to my wellingtons were wet and dirty with the sticky brown clay. The knee of my trousers was ripped and blood flowed through the hole, mixing with the dirt.

"Izzy?" He took once glance behind him and took in the ridiculous sight, back to my side with no more then a few strides, his arm around my waist helping me up. "What have you done?"

"I slipped over, no thanks to you for striding on ahead. Ow, shit!" I tried to put weight on my leg, the cut stinging and hurting. I bit my lips determined not to cry over a silly accident.

"Come on, we are nearly back at the car. Can you walk?"

"Sort of," I gasped as I put a little weight on the leg, wincing as I felt the jolt up to my knee.

"Let me carry you!"

"I'm covered in mud!" I protested, embarrassed. The only trouble was that I knew I was not capable of walking on my own.

"It's only mud, it washes off. Here, I'll give you a piggyback." He crouched down and I clung to his broad back unable to protest anymore, feeling his muscles tighten with my weight, his back shift so that I melded in more easily before finding a pace and continuing the climb, mainly in silence. "Can you not hold on so tightly around my neck Izzy, unless you are trying to strangle me," he said as the wooden palisade around the car park came into view.

I was glad to reach the car, end our walk. It was difficult to know what to say, how to treat him. We had talked, but no conclusions were reached – we were still sifting through the past, hadn't come to any agreement or negotiation – if anything I was more ill at ease now then I had been, the past reawakened and shaken down. All the hurt that I had sat on and buried had been dug up and held up for exposure – it was unsettling and painful.

"I'm going to cover your car with mud," I gave my clothes an embarrassed glance as I leant against the door, watching as he sat on the edge of the boot and swapped the muddy wellingtons for his trainers again.

"I told you, it's rented, not mine. I don't own it – don't own much at all. No car, no house, not even a lot of the clothes that I wear. Now stop fussing and get in, you'll get cold!" He brook no further arguments from me but drove home at speed, carrying me into the house and through to the kitchen, leaving me propped against the kitchen table as he ran a hot bath for me. "Do you want me to look at that knee?" I nodded, wincing slightly as I tried to straighten my leg. "Would you mind taking your jeans off Iz, so I can get to it?" I unbuckled my jeans and slid them down my legs, well aware that my legs were hairy, my knickers greying and that I was standing there in a mud covered fleece and socks.

"Is it as bad as it looks?" I muttered as he crouched by my leg and gently examined the gash in my leg.

"Not too bad," he gave a slight hiss. "I'll clean it up and you should be okay – can get away without amputating I think!" I gave a slight laugh that caught with a sniff, hitting him on the shoulder at his silly remark, but let him gently wipe away the dried blood and put a plaster over the gash.

Half an hour later having had a hot bath and changed, I felt more human. I made us tea and carried it through into the living room, stopping as he was sitting in the chair, only boxers and his sweater on, and a DVD box in his hand. With a gulp I realised it was the Cluinn tour DVD that I had bought only the other week, desperate to try and see him – even if it was in concert. "Where are you clothes?" I asked stupidly, stunned at his state of undress and the fact that I had forgotten to hide my latest purchase.

"In the washing machine with your dirty stuff and Lara's babygrow from this morning. I put it on as well, hope you don't mind, but they are all I have to wear."

"No, not at all, thanks for doing that!" I handed him the cup of the tea, glad when he put the box down on the floor to accept it. "Ric," I began hesitantly.

"What Izzy?" His tone was level, pleasant, the look in his eyes less clouded then earlier as if he was more at peace with himself.

"Thanks for rescuing me."

"No problem. Although it was my duty as you were obviously following me when you slipped." He paused. "So have we managed to get anything sorted? I am slightly confused after that conversation, just feel all over the place. How are you?"

"Kinda' the same – confused." I admitted, perching on the arm of the sofa, trying very hard not to look at him and failing as my eyes trailed over his fit body.

"I've been a real bastard haven't I?"

"You said it."

"But you aren't entirely blameless."

"No, but neither is Tatiana, or Ralph or the stupid technician who managed to delete my e-mail account; or the doctor who wouldn't release me so I could go to the Cluinn concert last December. The thing is Ric, we could systematically go through every event and occasion and apportion blame, or we can just accept that we made mistakes and try and move on."

"And how do you want to move on?" He ran his gaze over me and I suddenly felt quite naked, even though I was dressed again.

"Slowly, I want to move on slowly. I think I might learn to trust you again, I may even learn to love you again. At the moment I think I like you, but I am unsure if I really do or simply like who I think you are."

"I'm not him!" Ric spoke as he picked up the DVD box and waved it at me, the picture on the back a slow exposure of him singing and head bashing. "That is a character I inhabit, not me, so don't believe all that shit you read in magazine articles and on message boards. Don't heap false facts on top of the truth if you are judging me." He inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. "Would you throw it back in my face if I said I love you? I love you and always have and will."

"I won't accept it Ric – if you love me it is unrequited and that is a cruel sort of love."

"But you loved me once, admitted it yourself. Give me another chance Izzy," he swallowed hard. "Please. Give me a chance to prove to you and Lara that I can be a good boyfriend, a loving father and partner. I am in the UK now for quite a while – we have a video shoot in three weeks and another few concerts, but that is it. I can be at your beck and call, do whatever needs to be done; fix things that need fixing, be wherever you want me to be. Please!"

"Are you begging Richard?" I couldn't believe my ears, didn't want to listen to the words he spoke or feel the beat of my heart as it sped up with excitement.

"Do you have to call it that; sounds really unmanly?" He flashed me a hesitant smile. "But yes, I guess I am. Am I melting you at all?" I pulled a face, closed my eyes and sighed.

"Not an offer I can really resist is it." I tried to match his tone, keep it light. "Okay Ric, I accept. We start again from here, deal?" I held out my hand, expecting him to shake it, instead he picked it up and kissed the palm, sealing my fingers around it.

"Yes," was his simple reply.


	50. Chapter 50

**Sorry this has been a while in the update (at least for me) - for some reason it hasn't been the easiest chapter to write - Ric wasn't letting forth with his feelings! Still the story is still revolving around in my head. Please review - and thank you to all the new people who have left reviews, it is heartening to know that this story is still picking up new readers.**

Chapter 50

He walked the short distance to the car, the infant carrier bumping against his leg, unwieldy and heavy, he couldn't understand how new mothers coped with them, awkward to hold and carry. But his daughter seemed unperturbed by the bumpy journey, rewarding his glance at her with a big gummy smile. He couldn't help but return it.

Isabella was hot on his heels, cramming another bag containing god only knew what into the already crowded boot. She had been on edge all morning, snapping and criticising from the moment she had been woken by Lara's crows, which he had to admit, had been on the early side. They were attempting to all go up to London, visit the warehouse and meet with the rest of the band, his girlfriend wishing to see the rest of the guys again, show off Lara.

Girlfriend, the word made him pause slightly as he lent down to strap the carrier into the car earning a tut from the woman whom he had been reflecting on. It had been a curious three weeks, desperately trying to regain her trust, show her that he was worthy of her love and attention. It was strange to consider his actions in such detail; to think about the impact of his decisions on someone else. It wasn't his usual method of going about life and it was exhausting, but also strangely satisfying, seeing the joy he could bring to Izzy's eyes, the laughter to her lips and the smile to her mouth as he went out of his way to please her. And sometimes, over the past few days he had even received a hug of thanks – it was as far as anything physical between them went.

He had left her the evening after their walk, a small seed of hope planted in his heart as he drove back up the A3 to London, walking into the dark flat draped with dried washing. He returned back to Haslemere the next day with more clean clothes, a new toy for his daughter and a large bunch of pink roses for Isabella and had stayed for over a week.

He strapped his daughter in, weaving the seatbelt through the car seat with a practiced hand, in contrast to only a couple of weeks ago when he couldn't figure it out for love or money. That had made Izzy laugh – she loved watching him battle with the more confusing aspects of child rearing, no doubt the taste of revenge sweet in her mouth as she observed him getting covered in food, poo, puke and all the other delights his daughter managed to throw at him. Getting a child dressed, into the buggy and out the door without stopping seemed to be an art form to him, taking the same child shopping more exhausting then performing a two hour set on stage. But he willingly did them all, hoping; praying that the mother of his child noticed his efforts; however cack handed they were.

There was no appreciative roar of the audience to drive him on; any screaming fans or cheering crowds. If he was very lucky his daughter would bestow her charming smile on him or even better Izzy would relax and place her hand on his shoulder, touch her cheek briefly to his – the smallest actions were this thanks.

When he had been on tour, he knew that people treated him differently. As lead singer of the group he wielded glamour and power and anyone who wished to share in that would gladly suck up to him and any fulfil any demands he made. Despite trying to behave as normally as possible, even though he told himself that he was just another average guy; he knew that the past few months he had been living in an unusual bubble – one where the rough edges were smoothed and the many little problems and niggles of life were sorted without him even being aware.

That bubble had very definitely burst. It was quite clear that if he was going to be a house guest he had to pull his weight – supermarket shopping; household chores and basic DIY were all assigned to him. Attending the various activities that Lara participated in was also on the list and sharing in the feeding and changing obligatory. He was sure that Izzy was pushing him, waiting for the explosion of temper that the Richard of old would have suffered within a few days. Instead he kept his mouth shut and did what she asked.

He actually enjoyed it. The fact came as something of a surprise, but having lead such a narcissistic existence for the past year, it was pleasant to be reintegrated as a normal member of the population. Sure his hair was a tangled goo covered knot; similar to most of his tops, hey – he changed the sporty Coupe for another with more boot space and yes he now sung more nursery rhymes then any other song, but at least he was doing it for someone other then himself – and a record label.

There had been one hiccup in the past twenty or so days. He had received a call from a group he met when touring Australia, they had jammed together. Currently in London for a few days they wanted to meet up with Phantom, record for a few hours.

The set of Izzy's lips when he had told her was message enough that she did not like the idea. She didn't say anything, simply sighed and gave a weak smile with a nod of her head. He could tell what was going through her brain – she thought that he would disappear, fed up with the ritualistic and narrow world of child rearing. "I'll go up tonight, spend tomorrow recording and be back down by the evening," he had promised as faithfully as he could.

"Well, here you go, take a spare key – it will probably be late if you are coming down afterwards, just don't wake us up!" He had dared to press a kiss to her cheek for that – she obviously trusted him enough to expect him to come back. And so he had taken Phantom out of the box, slid on a pair of tight leather trousers, pulled on his usual assortment of tops and dressed up his arms and neck with jewellery. He chose his skull domino to wear, picking out the theme in his clothes and with his Gibson Les Paul in the back of the car he headed over to Wimbledon, were the band was recording.

It felt good to be back in front of a mike, to have his fingers flashing over the struts of a guitar again, to have the pounding of the drums in his ears and the backing of other players under his guitar solos. It was an unusual mixture of rock and dance music that the band was pushing forward, relying on Phantom to add the heavier edge to their beats which normally filled club floors. The songs which they had roughly sketched out over three months ago had been mixed and recorded and all that was left was for the guitar riffs to be layered in and the vocals. It took ten hours for the eight minutes of music to be finalised, but everyone was pleased with the results. It was also pushing nine in the evening.

He had intended to go back to the flat and change; remove all traces of Phantom and once again present himself as the mild mannered boyfriend. But that would take time and it was in the wrong direction; instead he found himself driving down the A3 at speed, determined not to renegade on his promise – give Izzy any reason to doubt him.

He parked the car and slid inside, noticing the dim light in the hallway, wondering if Izzy was awake. She was; sitting at the kitchen table, in her pyjamas, working at her computer. "Hey," he greeted her, unsure what to say.

"Hey yourself!" She glanced up from her computer screen; starting slightly at the sight of him before turning on her chair – taking in his appearance. "Ric, what are you wearing?"

"Clothes!" He tried not to sound too defensive. Okay, the top was a thin t-shirt so low on the neck that it came down to the middle of his chest and it did have the vague shadow of a skull on it. The leather trousers were tight and left little to the imagination and at the moment - he glanced down in horror, realising that they were betraying him with an unsightly bulge. Damn it! But Izzy wasn't staring between his legs, instead her eyes rested on his face and the eerie mask he wore. It had suited the style of music they were playing; the aggressive rock driven sound but here in the small kitchen it was out of place and out of context. She hated it – he remembered that. "I'm just gonna' grab a shower and..." he muttered, cursing silently to himself – stupid move, don't remind Isabella of the less desirable sides of your work, prancing in all dressed up.

"Stay a sec Ric; I've just boiled the kettle and was going to have a hot chocolate," she said with a smile. "Just can you remove that mask please? It gives me the creeps. " He had obligingly pulled it off and sat down opposite her, thankful that she wasn't as thrown as he had feared, the opposite in fact as she gazed at him with a wide eyed trust and when he had finally excused himself to go and have a shower and go to bed she had given him a hug, thanked him for returning. It had taken immense self control to not push her further, or to get out the room with his dignity intact!

* * *

But now he was once again on the busy road back to London, man he was getting used to driving it, the worn route in and out, shooting up the A3 into South London, the warehouse in Battersea. He had it down to an hour on a good run. So far luck was with them, having avoided the commuter traffic; they cruised along happily; Lara falling asleep in the back, whilst Isabella shifted around restlessly next to him. He could tell she was nervous, of course she would be because she was meeting three people she had been close to and who were; to all extents and purposes like his family – hell he spent a heck of a lot of time with them.

"You still okay to drop Lara and I at the flat later; it won't interrupt your day," she finally said out of the blue having shifted around for twenty minutes, bit her lips, checked her makeup and buffed her nails.

"Izzy, I've told you already that it isn't a problem and if it is I will personally get a taxi for you. But it shouldn't be."

"Yeah, but Lara might not settle, what about the noise – I swear it's going to be too noisy for her."

"We'll turn the amps down. Did you bring those ear defenders as well, they are good." He had found them in a baby shop on Kensington High Street on one his brief visits back to the flat. Amazed that he had walked past the shop hundreds of times and never noticed its existence he was chuffed to find the ear protection for Lara. After all, despite his reassurances to Izzy, the reverb on the speakers could be huge. He was not about to be responsible for damaging his daughter's eardrums.

"And you remembered your guitar, I mean it was in the living room and I didn't see you put it in the car..."

"Isabella, relax – just relax." He threw a brief glance at her, noticing the pale face and thinned lips. She was more dressed up then she had been in the past three weeks, swapping her usual jeans and jumpers for leggings, long boots and a sweater – dress – thing. He wasn't quite sure which it was meant to be. She looked nice; especially with her hair straightened and makeup on. He didn't have the heart or the guts to tell her that most of the time she simply looked tired.

It was obvious to him that she juggled her finances with aplomb and skill, because as far as he could see her total monthly income was the six hundred from renting him the flat. He didn't begrudge her a penny of it, but couldn't find a way to give her more – knowing her pride she would just refuse any direct handouts. All he could do was make sure he paid for as much of the daily expense as he could. Already he had taken on all the food shopping and quietly renewed all the little classes that she attended with Lara. But the one person she obviously didn't spend money on was herself.

A late night discussion with a glass of wine in hand, had her admitting to him that she was still overweight and lacking clothes; unable and unwilling to buy more for her current figure. Her wardrobe was a strange mixture of certain maternity pieces she was stretching out and a few new clothes from the cheaper high street shops. He had to find a way to give her some money for a new wardrobe, but was rather stumped at how to do it subtly – before the idea hit him!

"Of course!" He thumped the steering wheel with his hand earning a strange look from the woman next to him.

"Of course what?" Shit, had he spoken out loud; he didn't realise.

"Nothing, just thinking about a tune." Crap lie really, but it was all he could come up with on the spur of the moment. What he actually needed was someone to distract Izzy away from the strict guidelines that she had laid down for herself and take her out for a day of rest and relaxation, remind her that she was a person herself and not just a mother. He could easily look after Lara for the day and didn't mind putting up whatever funds were necessary to make it happen, he just needed someone to physically pull Isabella away from Haselmere and her daughter. That person was Tatiana.

She was due to meet him later, pitch her company's talents at the rest of the band before taking Izzy and Lara to the flat. They were going to attempt to spend the night in Kensington, all being successful before going home the next day. Such a simple plan and yet his girlfriend was almost beside herself with nerves and worry.

He could see that she was biting her lip, chewing nervously the closer they got to Battersea – the worry that she was holding surfacing. The traffic slowed to a crawl the closer they got to the centre and they were nearly half an hour late by the time they swung through the metal gates and into the yard.

The enclosure was bleak and bare as they drew up, only a few parked cars near the fire door indicated that there were other people there, but otherwise the space was deserted. Puddles filled the cracked depressions in the concrete and Ric made sure to drive a slow and careful path over the concrete not wishing to disturb his sleeping daughter or cause damage to the rental car. He pulled up alongside a brand new Mercedes SLR, looking at it with a frown.

"Who does that belong to?" Izzy asked noticing the direction of his glance.

"Given the number plate I would have an educated guess that it is Lord Jim," he spoke with a frown. "But I know for a fact that there is a six month waiting list on them, so am surprised he has one, never said anything about putting in an order." He shook his head. "Nice car though."

` "Yeah, but totally impractical, no back seat, boot space."

"Not everyone needs to take the kitchen sink with them wherever they go Iz," he teased lightly, trying to evoke a smile. She needed to relax; not take life quite so seriously. He liked to tease her – sometimes he even got a sarcastic smile in reply. "Anyway, ready to see everyone again?"

"No, no, just need a few moments to settle myself. Would you – um would you take Lara in for me?" He glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping daughter, hesitating for only a second before replying.

"Sure." He gently unbuckled the car seat and lifted it out, looking at his daughter's face, scrunched up in sleep. She would wake shortly, but at least it gave him the opportunity to go in – let his new life collide with his old – father with rockstar; boyfriend with single man. He knew his friends would not hold back on their comments. Probably a good thing that Isabella was giving him a few moments alone.

The metal door to the warehouse closed with a slam behind him, unable to catch it with the infant carrier in his hands. He winched, but Lara only stirred slightly and continued to sleep. It announced his entry as efficiently as if he had rung a doorbell however and it took only moments for Jim to wander over to where the lead singer stood, gazing around at the space, re-associating himself with the empty and echoing room. At the far end stood all the cases filled with the equipment that had followed them around the world; the band named stencilled on the side. It seemed odd to have them here in England; last time they had been out was in New York. However, somewhere in the pile was his Fender and his keyboards, that he had shipped back, only having had the luggage space to take his Gibson with him.

"Hey mate," his friend's voice was languid as he wandered over and Ric smiled to himself, realising that the guitarist had obviously not clocked what he was holding. He gently put the carrier down; shrugged off the change bag and with a glance to ensure that his daughter was still fast asleep, walked over to Jim, giving him a hug and slapping him on the back. In that moment he realised how much he had missed his best friend.

"Saw the car outside – when did you order that? Thought they were out of production!"

"Huh – oh back in April actually, wedding present for Laney and I from the parents – nice isn't it!" Ric let out a snort in agreement.

"You the first here?"

"Huh – no, Sandy and Gus are making drinks – you want some tea – god isn't good to be back in a country with decent tea? You coming?" He turned and took a few steps towards the small area they had cornered off as the kitchen, but Ric glanced backwards at his daughter, strapped into her seat fast asleep. He would only be ten feet or so away and would easily hear her cry; but if Izzy came in and found Lara abandoned in the middle of the floor, he could kiss goodbye any privileges he might have earned through good behaviour the preceding weeks.

Divine intervention occurred instead and Lara let out a squawk as she rolled over, opening her eyes and deciding that she was hungry – it was a demanding sound. Ric sighed. "Kettle just boiled?" Jim nodded; his eyes widening as if he suddenly took note of what was inside the large black item that sat in the middle of the floor. Ric leant down and gently undid the straps, lifting his daughter up and cradling her close into his chest so that she clung to his shoulder, her bright blue eyes peering all around as she desperately chewed on her fist; a sure sign that she wanted her mid morning bottle. Damn – could do with Izzy now, who was still in the car!

"Okay, what's that?" Jim sounded panicked at the sight of the young child and Ric found himself biting back a smile as he bent down again to retrieve the bottle from the bag. He wasn't as practiced at the juggling act of small child and food preparation and doubted that he would get much assistance from his friends, especially if their reactions were similar to Jim's.

"It's not a what Jim; it's my daughter."

"Oh!" Silence reigned as the message sunk in. It was received with a shout. "Where the fuck did you get a child from?" He approached slightly closer; squinting at Ric's daughter. "I come back with a car; you come back with a baby! God, she looks like you – got red hair and all! What's her name?"

"Lara." He spoke the word quietly, adding no explanation and embellishment. Jim had known him long enough, had even met his mother on a couple of occasions.

"Oh holy shit. Gus, you seen this!" Ric turned as Gus approached, hoping; no wanting for him to show approval, to know that all the advice he had dished out over the past year had not been in vain.

"Where's Izzy?" The bass guitarist said with a smile, as he sauntered up. He ran a gentle finger down the side of Lara's face.

"In the car." The words suddenly hit home and he frowned at his colleague and friend, who had started making beaming smiles at his daughter – bosom companions in an instant. "Angus – did you know?"

"Know what?" Angus' tone seemed calm, but Ric had spent the best part of a year with him and could tell that the simple statement was hiding a lot more.

"About Izzy? About Lara?"

"I knew that she was pregnant and I knew that she had a baby – yes." His face was impassive as Ric stared at him, disbelief welling up inside. All the nights and days he had spent talking and ranting about his relationship; trying to find a way to get over Isabella and Angus had held the key all the time – had known that she was pregnant.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. He could just about understand why Isabella hadn't passed on the news – she had her reasons, but Gus; his sounding board and unwilling confessor?

"I thought Izzy was married," Angus shrugged in reply. "I wasn't about to be responsible for the breakup of that. I also saw her when she ran away from the bus and she begged me not to tell you – I had no right to break her trust."

"But I know you've been in contact with her – why didn't you say; let her know how I felt? I..." He broke off; trying to control the anger and pain that started to dominate his emotions. It wasn't worth it. If he had learnt anything these past three weeks was that there was no point dredging up old hurts – sometimes forgiving and moving on; although harder was the better path. He swallowed hard, eating all the bitter words he wanted to hurl out, the vitriol that built up inside him the past few minutes. Angus was being a good friend – to both Isabella and himself.

"It wasn't easy!" Gus confirmed quietly, giving him a pointed look. "Nothing harder then being between two arguing friends, promise you that!" He gave pause. "I guess things are patched up between you if Izzy is in the car?"

"Very much patched rather then fully repaired," Ric gave a wry smile. "We are officially, um – how d'you say it? – getting to know each other again. I am trying to prove that I can do it properly this time."

"And are you succeeding?"

"No bloody idea! But I've become a dab hand at changing nappies and feeding that much I can tell you. In fact it's time for madam's bottle now, need hot water." He walked in the direction of the small sink and kettle, determined not to ask for help, even though it was tempting to go and get Izzy, hand her over – no this was a real test. Jim stared at him with a mixture of panic and wistfulness.

"So you a fully functioning Dad now? Never remember the Pater doing this for me?"

"Hardly, but I am giving it a go – hey!" He greeted Sandy propping up the worksurface, eyes bloodshot with a hangover; blowing on his cup of coffee. "How's it going Sands?"

"Yeah, cool." Sandy replied, giving a second take at the small female that clung to his arm – his reaction echoing the rest of his friends. "Ric, why do you have a small baby and where did you get it?"

"Well that's better then Jim who called her a thing. This is Lara – she's my daughter." He fell silent again, wondering if Sandy was going to be as astute as Gus in making the connection.

"Okay, either you've gone mad and decided to adopt a child – unlikely 'cause she looks like you – weird, never thought little kids looked like their parents. So, secret love child?" He hesitated.

"Or," Ric prompted, as he switched on the kettle and pulled a large mug out of the cupboard to warm the bottle in.

"Izzy?" Sandy said the word with a sideways glance, almost as if he were worried to utter the word in public. Had he really been that down and depressed about Isabella that his friends were now worried to speak her name to him? He confirmed with a nod; turning as the door banged shut, the four men in the room fell silent as the woman herself stood there staring at them all; biting her lip with repressed panic in her eyes.

Standing the other side of the room he couldn't help but admire her! The angle of her head set of her chin in a determined lift. She may be nervous but she wasn't going to let it get the better of her. She walked over to him and their daughter, her boots echoing on the concrete floor; eyes taking in the other band members. They were all smiling; looks were encouraging and friendly – after all Izzy had been a great friend of theirs in that year previous to fame and fortune.

"Hey Izzy," Angus was the first to make a move as she took the ten steps towards Ric, her focus evidently on Lara.

"Hi Gus, good to see you again."

"You too darling." It was as if that simple exchange of words opened the flood gates and Jim approached.

"Izzy, babe!" She laughed at that, the sound breaking the tension that had started to build with pressure. He slung an arm around her, kissing her cheek; making her laugh. Why was she always so relaxed with Jim and highly strung around him? "Saw your new arrival. Laney wants one of those you know! I might have to get her to come over and see."

"Jim! Her voice was lightly scornful. "It's not an object, Lara is a child and has the same needs and cares as any person, possibly slightly more. "Hey sweetie," she smiled at her daughter.

"I'm just warming her bottle," Ric noted that she didn't address him, didn't make any contact or even bestow a smile on him. Was this how it was to be? Or maybe she was worried about how it might be interpreted.

"Okay thanks. Want me to give it to her – you guys must have stuff to do!" She glanced around at the deserted space. The sofas were still there, the speakers abandoned in the middle of the floor with a couple of mics. A rudimentary dusting had taken place, but otherwise it looked exactly as if had not been occupied for over a year – which it hadn't really. There was a lot to do if they were to run through the music they were making a video for and practicing for the upcoming arena concerts in November and December.

His girlfriend and daughter happily ensconced on one of the couches he started shifting the flight cases with the others, amazed at the sheer weight of some of them. This was what their crew had done almost every day of their lives – building the stage up in a few hours, ripping it down again after the show and packing it up once more before moving on. After only fifteen minutes he stripped off his sweater, forty minutes later his t-shirt was also wringing wet. He pulled that off as well, clad only in his jeans and trainers like Sandy.

He draped it over the arm of the other sofa, smiling at the pair of females sitting there, not missing the gaze that Isabella flicked over his body. Even though they had been living in the same house, she hadn't seen him topless – although as she owned their tour DVD it wasn't as if it were a forbidden sight. He often ended up tossing his t-shirt into the crowd at the end of a concert, especially when they were in the hotter countries – the temperature in some of the venues easily climbing over forty degrees centigrade.

"When did you get that tattoo?" she asked quietly, nodding at his right shoulder blade. He glanced behind him, checking out the black markings. Always black, he didn't like the adornment on his body to be in colour.

"Oh, um New Zealand – it's a Maori design. It was a full pattern of waves and curls, intricate in their design which licked over his shoulder and across the blade, the edge running down the top of his arm where it met and merged with the band that circled his right bicep. "It just seemed right at the time." He shrugged and turned to get back to the shifting and lifting, aware of her gaze on his body; the heat of her eyes following him. He was still in fairly fit shape, tried to get out and run everyday even if there was nowhere to lift weights in Izzy's house – however jogging up the steep hills, especially if he was pushing the pram proved to be a very good workout.

He realised that she was watching him as he shifted speakers, set up boards and sorted out the wiring needed on the mixer for the amps and pedals. She never took her eyes off him as he set up his keyboards and tuned his Fender. Her stare trailed him as he threw on his top to get the pram so Lara could sleep. It started to make him feel uncomfortable, awkward.

Thankfully after two solid hours of work the warehouse once again resembled somewhere they could practice and perform and not just an empty, overly dusty space. The mikes were sent up, his and Jim's guitars sat in their racks waiting to be used. Even Sandy has stopped fiddling about with his drum kit long enough for them to sit down for a moment.

"God, I'm starving," Sandy announced, shutting a lid with a decided bang. Ric scowled at him – how dare he potentially wake Lara with this clumsiness. "Shall I go out for burgers or order in pizza?" He stretched his massive frame and flashed them a grin. "Seeing as we don't have the lovely Julie to run and fetch for us anymore."

"I – um- bought a picnic lunch with us," Isabella spoke up – it was the most she had said all day and three pairs of eyes swivelled in her direction as she spoke. Ric flashed a smile at her and grabbed a wipe from the change bag, rubbing his hands clean – he was so going to have to start carrying these all the time, they were so useful!

"Come again my darling, did you say you bought food with you?" Jim smiled a charming grin and she smiled back with a nod. He watched the exchange with interest, pleased at the thoughtfulness of her gesture. It also explained why there was so much stuff in the car.

"Don't get excited, I mean it's just sandwiches from Marks, and some dips and stuff. Ric, it's the big silver bag in the boot – would you go and get it please?"

"Yeah Ric, go on fetch!" Sandy laughed. He shot him another scowl – didn't want the other guys to pick up and comment on his currently subservient position. Still, he thought as he wandered out, it was a thoughtful gesture of her to have someone thinking of their needs, just because they cared and not because they were being paid to do so – it made a change.

They sat on the sofas, the food spread out on top of one of the flight cases as a makeshift table – the few sandwiches turning into a delightful feast, especially after the intense workout he had endured. Thankfully the rest of the boys remained silent on the topic of the reunion between their lead singer and his ex-girlfriend, especially the addition of a child; who was happily asleep in her buggy.

"So what are you doing now?" He tuned into Izzy talking to Gus and Jim.

"We've got a video shoot in two days time – gonna' be an intense one, that's for sure. Remember filming broken?" He saw her nod. "Well, double – triple it even. 'Cause we didn't release a decent video last time, just patched something together out of tour footage EGA have gone all out on this, big budget stuff – pushing for another Christmas number one I think."

Ric sighed and shook his head. He hadn't talked about the video to her, in truth the topic gave him the willies – didn't like the idea at all, or what it involved. But everyone else was convinced it would be a hit and as he had learnt in the past year and a half – whatever sold the music was fair game. He leant over and grabbed his acoustic guitar that was propped up against the side of the couch, tuning it quietly as he listened to the drone of conversation, Angus and Jim explaining the storyline for the video that saw them aping a 'Phantom of the Opera' style production.

He grimaced – of course he got to play the Phantom and he had seen the designs for the makeup they had created. It was another clever gimmick at the hands of the marketing department. A modern day Phantom, discovered busking in a side street (how true was that) unmasked to reveal a horrendous disfigurement. He had argued at that fact, but as it had been pointed out – this was based on a story, not him. Either way the makeup he was going to have to wear made the scar on his face look incidental in comparison. He knew it would open up floods of comments from fans all over the world debating if they were his true features or not.

The video continued to show him achieving all – standing on a stage singing – the band playing behind – the crowd roaring and ending with a chandelier crashing from the ceiling, in a neat nod to both Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Weber. Either way he knew it was going to be one hell of a shoot – and would probably overrun the three days that had been booked for it. Three days without Izzy and Lara – it seemed an abhorrent thought.

He heard Isabella's gasp as the storyline was explained to her and looked up to meet her eyes boring into his, her hand over her mouth. She was shocked at the idea – knew how much he didn't want to draw the parallels that this video was obviously making. Her glance seemed to ask him if he liked the idea and he shook his head at her, mouth downturned – no he bloody well didn't!

"Right, let's play guys," he broke the lunch party up. "Need to run through a couple of tunes. _Consequences_ first and then _Light of Day_."

"I can play Light of Day in my sleep, can play them all in my bloody sleep actually," Jim grumbled, easing himself off the couch and picking up his guitar with a yawn. Ric followed suit, settling the strap of his Fender over his shoulder, re-associating himself with the weight and feel, before softly counting the rest of the group in. Despite not playing together for three weeks it was as if they had never been apart – hadn't finished the tour. Jim was right, he thought, it was second nature and they ran through the song without stopping. He noticed that Isabella had shifted herself off the sofa and moved the buggy to the far end of the warehouse.

"How's it sound from down that end?" He spoke through the microphone, his voice amplified up to the ceiling and bouncing off the walls. She shouted back her reply, lost in the echoing space so that he had to strain to hear it, relying on her exaggerated thumbs up to lip read the words. As she confirmed their ability he launched into the opening bars of 'Light of Day' with barely a nod at the others.

It was so automatic, so overplayed that he didn't think about the words. This was their number one single, sung at every concert, played at every awards ceremony, copied and sung by a hundred music wannabes. He heard it being butchered by a busker only the other day and warbled out by a Crapstar hopeful last week. With all the publicity and promotion that surrounded it, he sometimes forgot about the origins, had lost the reasoning behind the song.

Therefore he trailed off with surprise when Isabella abandoned the buggy and her sleeping child, running out of the warehouse; letting the metal door slam behind her with a loud reverberation, no thought given to waking Lara. The rest of the band played on for another couple of bars before they too trailed off realising that Ric was no longer playing or singing, instead his eyes were fixed on the exit. He hesitated a moment, not wanting to follow her too quickly, but as the seconds ticked by and one minute became two and then three; he put down his guitar and walked over to the door.

"Ric," Angus called out after him, but he waved him off with an impatient gesture. He could guess what got to Izzy, but he was unsure why she had stormed out. He eased himself out of the door and saw that she was leaning against the car, her arms wrapped around her body, face looking at the cracked ground; tears pouring down her cheeks – dripping off her nose. "Izzy," he said softly as he approached, suddenly hit with the memory of how she had come and rescued him once when he was drowning in memories, remembering a song.

He lent against the car next to her, the November temperature chilling him after the relative warmth of the exercise of singing and playing. She didn't say anything, but shifted over slightly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Hush darling," he whispered, "it all right." She started to cry even harder then and he wrapped his arms around her, drew her into a hug, letting her cry out all the emotion and feeling, the water wetting his shoulder as she sobbed and sniffed against the wool of his sweater. She shook her head, still mute, unable or unwilling to find the words to explain her actions.

"No it's not going to be all right – it is never going to be all right ever again," the cracked words finally coming out as a chocked whisper.

"Why not?" He pressed a kiss to her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, her perfume and the unique undertone breastmilk and baby.

"Because we will never be like that again – we are now just two lost souls wandering a parallel path, destined to never truly be joined again. You are never going to just sit there and look at me sleeping and love me in the same way ever again!" He was stunned into silence by her words, for she had just admitted that she wanted his love, craved it – even though her lips spoke otherwise, she did love him – from deep within as he loved her. He gave a deep sigh, her body, tightly pressed against his moving with it.

"I might never look at you lying asleep in bed again, but there are other opportunities Izzy. Like you said, let's take it slowly, let things grow again in their own time." The words echoed in his ear and he could hear his ego and vanity growling at what he had said; demanding to know why he hadn't taken advantage of the situation – at least kissed her. Good idea! He tipped her face up to his, took in the eyes bright with tears, swollen red eyelids and a red nose and with a slight smile lightly placed his lips on hers. He knew he shouldn't, it was taking advantage of her vulnerable state, but for the first time she replied in kind. With a slight moan and shudder she kissed him back, not objecting when his tongue slid in between her lips but welcomed it and let the kiss deepen naturally. They stood there, clinging to each other like they were the only two people left on the earth, kissing for all it was worth.

Ric drew back first, reluctant to let go, but scared that he couldn't control himself further. He had started out intending to give comfort and reassurance, whilst satisfying his own natural craving. He ended up feeling lost and a little bit scared. Oh boy did she love him, deeply and truly – it was just the words that needed to come out now.

"Do you want to go home," he spoke softly as she came around, not wanting to speak about what they had just done, broken their own rules they had been living by. She shook her head. "I'll give you a lift. Just let me grab my jacket..."

"No Ric, no." She stopped him with her hand on his arm. "Please just get a taxi for me, back to Kensington – I will be fine. You have so much to do. I will call Tatiana, explain what's happened. She can come over after seeing you lot."

"Are you sure?" He looked at her carefully, her attitude a complete U-turn on what she had been saying and requesting. Obviously the kiss had rocked her foundations as much as his. She nodded.

"Yes, I'll be fine. Let me just get Lara and ..." She paused. "Oh god, Lara – I've just abandoned her with three of the biggest Neanderthals' in the world!"

"Now, that's unfair," he laughed at her description. "I wouldn't call Gus a Neanderthal!" She smiled at his joke, lightly hitting him on the arm as they walked back to the door, behaving like the Izzy of old. Inside pandemonium greeted them. Angus held a grizzling child, a look of panic on his face as he made shushing noises, walking up and down. Sandy sat at his drums; obviously trying to get as much distance between the crying child and himself as possible and Jim sat on the sofa making unhelpful comments. "Don't ever ask if you can babysit," Richard smiled as he looked at them, taking the hot wet child from his friend and cradling her against his chest, walking her over to the sofa where Izzy had gone, fiddling with her top and releasing her boob – sometimes a feed was the only way to calm Lara down. In seconds silence reigned again.

"I am sorry about that," Isabella apologised to the other men who seemed embarrassed by her actions, not quite sure if they were allowed to look at her or not. Ric smiled; at least they had the manners not to stare. "I thought she would sleep happily for another few minutes."

"Probably Jim's playing that woke her," Angus rebutted sarcastically, perching on the arm of the other sofa.

"Sandy's drum solo you mean," Jim defended himself.

"Shut it guys," Ric realised the teasing was escalating into the usual discussion. Sometimes it was like working with a bunch of children – he was gaining valuable insight in his new role. Lara's outburst helped though, it had detracted the attention away from Izzy and himself – their relationship. He knew it wouldn't last – he had turned up, out of the blue with the woman he had been lamenting for a year and a small child – questions were long overdue.

Half an hour later he had put his girlfriend and daughter into a taxi, sent it back to his flat; her flat, promises to be home in the early evening and call so she could cook. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his jean, enjoying the moments of solitude outside, ruminating on the kiss. The electricity and the sparks that had flown between them.

He knew that the guys would ask him what the hell was going on – was he back with Isabella. He knew his answer now – yes, they both loved each other and together they were going to move forward.


	51. Chapter 51

**So sorry for the huge delay in publishing this (well huge for me anyway), but I wrote about five pages, didn't like it, deleted, wrote three more and erased those as well. It wasn't easy to get this down for once. Anway read and enjoy and always, please review...**

Chapter 51

I fiddled with the neckline of my top, pulling it up; sure that my bra was showing over the low flimsy neckline. I then shifted uncomfortably, pulling the bottom down so that it covered my stomach, crossed with the stretch marks of pregnancy and not toned as it once use to be. A hand went up to push the big bouncy curls off my face.

"Will you just please stop fidgeting?" The voice next to me sounded fed-up enough to make me pause in my self-adjustment and turn and look. She sat next to me in the luxurious back seats of the car, the passing street lips casting strips of bleached colour over her face.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous?" My hand reached up involuntarily to twiddle one of the curls and it took considerable will power to force it back down again.

"Nervous, what have you got to be nervous about?" Tatiana's voice was incredulous at my admission, but she couldn't understand; not truly. Here I was in the back seat of this executive car being chauffeured to the Cluinn gig at the O2 arena with my best friend, I was dressed up to the nines wearing clothes that were not normally in my wardrobe and my daughter was being babysat by Annabel. It was so far away from my usual existence, so distance from what my future had held only two months ago that; as always, I tried to reject it.

Ric had been back in Lara and my life for seven weeks now and mostly they had been wonderful, in a strange slightly sterile sort of way. The first three weeks we had remained in splendid isolation in Haslemere, once again getting use to each other's presence, bonding as a unit that included Lara. I was hard on him at first, determined to show him that our relationship could not be as easy and simple as it once had – instead he needed to fully participate in my and our daughter's existence if he was to even consider being part of them.

To that end I made him feed and change her, take her with him to do the shopping; walk the mile or so into town with a buggy – experience the difficulties and challenges of trying to live with a small messy child; an oversized change bag and a buggy in tow. I made him hang shelves and check the oil in my car; mow the lawn in the garden and fix the puncture on the pushchair, anything and almost everything I could find that was as demanding and difficult as possible.

Part of me wondered if he would crack; shout and stomp off – leave Lara and me alone so that I wouldn't have to inspect my feelings and face how I truly felt about the situation. But instead he took it with good grace, did everything I asked of him and more, easing my life in a myriad of small ways.

But he couldn't remain isolated in a country village forever, the world didn't work that way; neither did his job and he had to get back to London, practice with the band, shoot another music video. He always stayed in contact, came back after the manic days away, once again returning to our humdrum child lead existence. I missed him dreadfully in his absence.

And so, when the next single was due to be released; as the bandwagon of marketing and PR once again picked up pace and Cluinn were rested and recovered and once again ready to tour, I took the plunge to move back to the London flat for a couple of weeks, wanting to be around him more. It meant that I had to face up to my dislike of his 'day job', the image of the Phantom and the truth that I was wildly attracted to him; even more so when he was dressed as the rockstar he was and not the slightly harassed parent and partner.

It was odd to move back into my flat that I had vacated over a year ago, wander around the rooms that I had mercilessly stripped of anything homely or welcoming. I installed Lara and I in my old bedroom, relegated Richard back to the spare room amongst his clothes and law books that sat in dusty rows on the two bookshelves, kept company by a couple of guitars. I still hadn't let him into my bed, knowing that to do so would be to fully commit; to not be able to walk away again. I wasn't sure if my heart was truly recovered from being broken last time – the thought of never again running away from what I could not control too much to consider.

It was nice to be back in London. Living out to the southwest, two large parks only a short walk away meant that in some ways I had more open space then down in Haslemere. Unfortunately a second floor flat did mean that I had to carry Lara up and down two flights of stairs and abandon the buggy to its own fate at the bottom, but I did have every imaginable facility almost on my doorstep – including my very close friend only a few minutes away.

Her fledgling relationship with Angus meant that she seemed to spend a lot of time in our flat, the bass player not having his own accommodation and currently living in a local hotel. He and Ric had deep discussions about property and spent a lot of time sitting in front of the computer looking at various flats and houses for sale in and around London. I couldn't help but notice that Richard never said anything about purchasing bricks and mortar; no reference to how he was going to spend the money he had made.

I had found out about his millions purely by accident, for he never mentioned them and I had never considered what he could be worth. Obviously he was no longer the broke student that I had known; his three guitars were worth more then he use to live on in half a year, but I wasn't aware that he was quite as wealthy as I learnt. It was Tatiana that drew it out of him. They seemed to have a love-hate relationship, much sparring talk and fighting words between them; similar to Jim they seemed to enjoy trumping each other in the final say.

She had come in one day when I had been cutting his hair. He had been complaining about its length for weeks, finding it a heavy tangled mass, although had needed it for the video shoot, as the other option would have been to wear a wig. However, the obligation to keep it long finished, he could no longer tolerate having his daughter's sticky hands tangled into its length, tugging it free from the roots – I could attest to the pain of that!

Therefore he persuaded me to cut it for him and I reluctantly combed out the wet length, the hair dressing scissors I used on Lara in my hand. It felt strange to be snipping away at the light brown locks, darker in the winter with lack of sun, watching as they fell to the mat I had spread under the chair. I had only cut halfway when the buzzer rung and I invited Tatiana up with an absent minded air, opening the door for her to come in and returning to my role as temporary hairdresser.

She had come in, laughing at the sight of me bent over Ric's head, his hair half cut and hanging down his naked back. He had started going to the gym again now we were in London and his arms were once again pumped and large, the tattoos on his shoulders prominent with the ripped muscle. "Why do you want to cut your hair?" she asked him as I made the final snip, the last lock falling to the floor.

"Finished Ric." He stood up and ran a hand through his shorter style, shaking it slightly and giving an experimental head bang. It was still long enough for the locks to fly everywhere before falling around his face again.

"Good job darling," he pressed a kiss to my forehead; one arm wrapped around my shoulder - about as much contact as I usually allowed between us before grabbing his t-shirt and sliding it back on again. I watched as his six-pack disappeared from view, attempting to ignore the liquid feeling that welled up inside my body. "I wanted to cut my hair because I usually seem to have half a child tangled in it and unlike you girls can't really pin it up on my head out of the way. Lara!" His warning shout alerted me to the fact that our daughter had pulled herself up to standing against the sofa and was beaming a gummy smile at the adults in her view, pleased as punch with herself – then she fell over and her little face crumpled with tears. Her father was by her side in a flash, picking her up and cuddling her to his chest, kissing and distracting her. Tat and I watched, both with thoughtful smiles on our faces.

I broke from my reverie to get the dustpan and brush, sweep up the hair on the mat and throw it away. "You could sell that you know," Tat nodded to the dusty locks sitting in the pan.

"What?" I stared down at the dead hair, lank and lifeless now it was no longer attached, curling my nose up in disgust at the sight. "What as a wig or something? It's not long enough."

"No seriously, you could sell it. Ric?" She turned to my boyfriend who was sitting in the chair singing to his daughter, distracting her from her minor fall. "Do you want to sell your hair?" He reached a hand up in confusion to brush the hair on his head, his face pulled into a frown. "No, not that hair, the stuff Izzy's just cut off."

"Why would I want to sell my hair?" He seemed as confused as I did.

"Phantom's hair! People would pay good money for a souvenir like that!" She replied, indicating the sweepings of the pan. I moved into the kitchen continuing my tidying, listening to the silly conversation.

"Well if you are that broke Tatty, be my guest," he replied with a snort of laughter, "you can eBay my fingernails as well, because I think I can just about survive without selling parts of my body."

"Huh," she snorted. "You could do a lot more then survive with your millions these days!" I only half caught what she said as I straightened up, hovering in the kitchen and taking on the role as eavesdropper, curious to know if he would say anymore.

"Only stays as millions if I keep working at it," he said in a typically maddening sort of way. "I could buy one house in London tomorrow and it would all disappear, not that much."

"Would have to be one of those ten million pound mansions in Belgravia though," she shot back causing me to frown. Ten million, was Richard really worth that much money? He didn't answer but just laughed.

"Aye and in Scotland that could buy you a whole estate. As if I would invest in something like that around here. Lara stop that; you're hurting your Da." And that was the end of that particular conversation. He never said anything to me about his worth, or what he planned to do with it. I think he was waiting for me to play my hand and I was forcing him to remain in a state of limbo.

* * *

But I knew that I couldn't stay this way forever. As I sat in the back of the car, being chauffeured to the first of the Cluinn concerts that they were holding in the British Isles as part of their world tour, I knew that I was about to see him in action. Phantom did unnerve me. There was such intensity to Richard when he donned the costumes, glued the mask to his face and picked up his guitar. It was as if another side, one that remained hidden most of the time exposed itself and this was the person that I had to share with millions of fans around the world. I didn't feel I knew him anymore then they did either.

Tatty had forced me to go shopping, making me buy clothes to fit in with the image for the show, my mumsy jeans and tops not meeting the grade. Richard had willingly babysat whilst I was hauled from boutique to shop and back again; finally coming home having spent a wad of notes that Tatiana had pulled out from her purse and weighed down with carrier bags. I was wearing those clothes now, tight; beautifully cut jeans – a far cry from the baggy overworn pair that I had made do with since Lara was born. I had been persuaded to match it with a tight little bra top over which a thin filmy off the shoulder affair floated. It was flattering, being quite kind to my post pregnancy body – however I still felt ridiculously exposed in it. The only thing that had made me light up was being able to purchase two pairs of beautiful leather shoes – something I hadn't been able to indulge in for a long time. There wasn't much call for stiletto boots as the mother of a small child.

"I am nervous about not fitting in, being pushed to the sidelines again," I admitted finally, answering Tatiana's question after a lengthy silence as I had reminisced.

"That's silly Iz," she replied; giving my hand a comforting squeeze. "You are so important to him, haven't you noticed the way his eyes follow you around a room? He is always checking on your comfort, Lara's happiness. I was totally and absolutely prepared to dislike the man, based on what you had told me; what I knew about some musicians, but Richard is totally and utterly into you. He would never allow that to happen."

"He let it happen before," I said in a small voice; admitting my darkest fears. "I might get to the concert and Phantom won't want to be seen with overweight little me, they will be groupies and drink and drugs and ...Tatty I am boring in comparison!"

"Oh hush, stop getting so worked up Izzy! Look, if it is any consolation, Gus admitted to me that Richard was a total pain when they were touring; moped after you almost non-stop for over a year. And apparently it is totally true that they play Scrabble most evenings. I challenged him to a game and he totally trounced me! So that is your glamorous rock star life." I shrugged. "Seriously Izzy, there will be groupies and hangers on there, but that doesn't mean they are shagging them, it just goes with the territory, you'll be fine!"

I didn't get a chance to reply as there was a sound of chanting and screaming that filled the car. We swept past the heaving mass of people that were flooding into the arena, the tinted windows of the car hiding us from their view, but we could still see the huge throng of people as they poured in through the doors. "Oh god," I muttered under my breath. This was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

"Have you put your pass on? Tatty glanced in my direction again and I shook my head, reaching for the laminate and pulling it down through my bra. According to my boyfriend this was the safest way to wear it when entering the building. If an errant fan was to see, they might try and rip it off me. Backstage passes were the currency at this venue and there were hordes of fans screaming as we got out the car, noticing the laminates that we flashed at security.

"Tell Phantom I love him..." I heard one voice scream.

"Cluinn, Cluinn, Cluinn," the chant sounded in my ears and I had to resist covering them with my hands, the noise level and intensity deafening. It didn't seem any better inside either, for there bewildering swarms of people bustled about all with intensity and purpose, as we were led through a maze of breeze block corridors, paper signs pointing the way through.

"Who are all these people?" I murmured to Tat as we hurried to keep up with the burly security guard who led us on our way.

"Not sure," she muttered back, causing the guard to smirk slightly. Finally after a bewildering set of turns and a walk that left me gasping for breath slightly we paused in front of a door, the band name fastened to the outside. A brief knock and it opened, another security guard blocking our entrance. I exchanged a look with Tatiana.

"Girls for Tom and Gus, Mike – their names are on the guest list – let them through!" And with those magical words, a glance at our passes we were ushered into the large fabric draped changing room; the door shut firmly behind us. We stood there, the space seemingly empty until the sound of masculine laughter alerted us to the fact that we were in an outer part of the dressing room, comfortable sofas obviously intended for relaxing. Following the sound of laughter, I went through another open door and stopped dead.

There were the four boys and a woman lying stretched out on another couch, joining in the discussion, arguing with intensity. She noticed us first and swung her legs down from the cushions, standing up with a squeal. "Isabella, Izzy – oh my god!" As she walked towards me with open arms, I realised that it Alanya, obviously supporting her husband and the rest of the band.

I hadn't seen her since my reunion with Richard; she had been away and busy with her modelling and other commitments. She took me in a warm hug that I returned before dropping back and introducing her to Tatiana, aware that the men had fallen silent, were watching us. Gus was waiting impatiently and I could make out Ric from the corner of my eye.

"Hey," I felt his arms wrap around my waist from behind, his chin dig into my shoulder and his lips briefly nuzzle my temple before I turned and looked at him; knowing that this would not be the casually dressed man I shared my life with. I was right. The creature in front of me was wearing tight black jeans, biker boots that rose up around his calves. A thin grey t-shirt hung off his torso, no armholes so that his tattoos on his shoulders stood out. His eyes had been ringed in vast amounts of kohl and he had a black domino mask glued to his face. And yet despite the outlandish getup he seemed at ease and calm. Of course this was old hat to him; no reason to have nerves like me – he'd done this all before.

"Hey yourself," I said with a smile, my heart beating fast. The sight of him always made me tremble, even more so in this sexy alluring get-up. Not having any baby goo clinging to him or a nappy in his hand made it even more appealing. "How's it going?"

"Yeah fine, nearly there – waiting is the worst part and I'm glad you are here now. How's Lara doing?"

"She's fine," I chuckled slightly, the dichotomy of his appearance and words. Dressed to perform a rock concert and yet worried about his small child. "She heard you on the radio this morning and looked very confused; kept glancing around the room thinking you were going to appear." He chuckled slightly. They had been playing their new single on Radio 1 this morning and I had been listening in, Lara couldn't understand that her Father's voice was coming from the box on the shelf instead of from him and been very bemused by his absence. "I also think she might start crawling in the next few days, she was up on her hands and knees today and took a shuffle backwards."

"Damn, don't want to miss that!" He heaved a sigh. "As long as she doesn't get the hang of it in the next couple of days should be okay. You must video it if I'm not there."

"Of course! I figured out how to do it on my phone now – no excuse."

"Exactly!" Ric had presented me with my own iPhone only a few days ago, saying I needed to be more contactable – he was fed up of only getting my voicemail was his excuse. In truth I was aware that he was trying to spend money on me. I hadn't bought any food shopping in weeks, a fresh bunch of flowers was always in a vase for me and he constantly made excuses for buying me small gadgets as mine were either broken, dated; old fashioned or a myriad of other reasons he presented to me. I was pretty sure the funding for my new wardrobe came through him, although Tatty wouldn't say. The phone was the latest and I was still getting to grips with it. "Anyway, come here;" he nodded towards the other end of the room where a makeup counter and mirror stood. The surface was covered in a jumble of items, makeup brushes, eyeliner pencils and facial adhesive sitting amongst set lists, plectrums and guitar strings. Near the mirror a small photo frame held a picture of my daughter and I taken only a few days ago and next to it sat a small bag which he snagged up and presented to me.

"Links of London?" I flashed my eyes up at him, suddenly drowning in memories, searching his eyes and getting an answering smile – we were both caught at the same moment in the past. My trembling hand pulled a small box out I pulled the lid off with a clumsy action, knowing what I would find. There sitting on the black velvet was a friendship bracelet, like the one I had given him only narrower; the threads wound around the silver pegs; white and pink. I flipped the small closure over and there were the same letters as his, almost. RIS + IFS was what he had engraved and I looked up at him in shock that slowly melted into a smile as I saw through the blank expression he wore and witnessed the worry and hope that shone in his eyes.

"That's beautiful Ric, would you put it on me." I said, holding out my left arm, letting him fasten it above my watch, the same place he wore his.

"Do I get a thank you kiss?" he stood close, the words low and quiet, intended for my ears only. I glanced over my shoulder, suddenly aware that the rest of the team sitting behind us were silent, no doubt hanging on every nuance of our unintended performance. "No, don't look at the others – just give me a kiss, I need one." I rose onto my toes and balancing myself against his torso pressed a kiss to his cheek. Disappointment flashed through his eyes.

"That's from Lara," I said with a slight smile.

"And from you?" I bit my lip; of course I wanted to give him something – just didn't want it to be mis-construed.

"Is there anywhere we can go that is a bit more private," I glanced over my shoulder, noticed that the others had suddenly shifted attention. I let out a small smile at the sight of Tatiana perched on Angus' lap, his arm wrapped around her. There was a relationship that seemed to be going places.

"Outside, if you want Mike to watch or we can go and make out in the loos like teenagers," he offered, smiling at the look on my face. "Welcome to the wonderful world of touring Izzy, this is about as comfortable and private as it gets. Now don't worry about our friends, just give me a kiss!" He let out a slight sigh and I took advantage, pulling his head down; kissing him firmly on the lips, wriggling my tongue into the recess, kissing him with all the nervous energy and passion that was coursing through me. It was the cheering and wolf whistles from behind that made us break off and stop. I turned; blushing beetroot with embarrassment. Ric had no such problem.

"Shut up you lot!" He growled, even though there was a smile on his face.

"Think Tom's found his mojo again," Jim commented to Sandy, who was sitting on the edge of the sofa, drumming a beat out on the arm with his sticks. He too wore tight jeans and nothing else but a small body builders t-shirt.

"Aren't you going to be cold Sandy?" I asked in concern, breaking away from the intensity of the moment and wandering over, trying to distract the attention away from Ric and me. The temperature in the changing room wasn't that warm and I shivered slightly in my thin layers. My boyfriend came up behind and wrapped his arms around me again pulling me back against him so that I felt the warmth of his body seep into mine, equalising our temperatures slightly. I glanced down and saw that he was wearing his bracelet still amongst the other jewellery that adorned his arms. The drummer let out a laugh at my comment.

"Izzy babe, I would go on naked if I could, I get so hot!" He flashed me a cheeky grin and in an instance I could see why so many women swooned over this man, almost as much as the lead singer.

"You got down to your boxers in Sydney," Jim recalled. "Shouldn't be that hot tonight though. And the air con should work in a place like this!" He flicked his eyes to his watch, checking the time. "'bout fifteen minutes I would say guys."

"Once more unto the breach dear friends once more," Angus shifted Tatiana off his lap, standing up and shaking out his legs as he wandered over to where his guitar stood on its rack. He too was wearing ripped jeans and clumpy boots, a t-shirt on his top half and a scarf knotted over his head. None of them seemed particularly distressed or worried by Jim's comment. They all half-heartedly stood up, stretching out; gathering their instruments and standing together in a knot, Alanya; Tatiana and I on the outside.

Sandy held his drumstick out vertically and I watched in bemusement as they all grabbed onto it, bowing their heads down, closing their eyes; silence falling over the room. I saw Ric's lips moving silently as if praying before Jim's shout echoed. "Let's go get London!" The drumstick flew up into the air and hit the ceiling before falling again, Sandy catching it with an expert hand.

"They did that in the States once and punched a hole in the ceiling. It got stuck." Alanya commented with a wry smile at the same time a young girl stuck her head through the door and asked them to come to the stage. I hung back and watched as they automatically took their places; Ric at the head, the other three forming a diamond pattern behind, a security guard at front and back. Laney went and gave Jim a kiss whispering words only for him and I saw my boyfriend glance over his shoulder at me. I hesitantly went forward; let him pull me into his side.

"I'll see you afterwards back here," he whispered to me, his eyes boring into mine.

"Lots of luc..." He put a rough finger against my lips; shaking his head with a smile.

"No, that makes it bad – just give me a kiss." I didn't need much more encouragement and once again pressed my lips to his, feeling his tongue briefly dance between my lips; touching mine before retreating and he let go of me with a smile; contentment on his face. I took a step back and watched as the moved out of the dressing room, leaving Tatiana, Laney and I standing there – almost sending our men off to war. We weren't allowed to hang around.

"Please, follow me," the same girl ushered us out the room and to a private box with the most stunning view of the stage, our own private bar and seats. It was empty except for the three of us. A glance to my right showed that the one next door was heaving with other people.

"Smile girls," Laney glanced out over the screaming crowds. "We are officially the WAGs of Cluinn now!" She delicately waggled her fingers as an excuse for a wave in the direction of a man in the seating area next day and I nearly dropped the champagne that had been pressed into my hand as Dev waved back, leaning over the low barrier and greeting Alanya with an airy touching of cheeks.

However the distraction didn't last long as suddenly the lights on the stage darkened; the cheering of the crowd reaching fever pitch as the music started up and a chant against a thumping drum beat filled the arena. My eyes scanned the dark stage, trying to look for movement, until the lights shone and I realised a cloth hung across the gap. The music built to a crescendo and a spotlight highlighted two shadows in gigantic form standing on the stage; their guitars held like weapons. And then the curtain dropped a huge flash of light had me momentarily blinking with its intensity and my boyfriends voice filled the massive room. The already worked up crowd screamed even more.

The figures standing on the stage were Jim and Angus, but I couldn't see any sign of Ric until I realised he was on a platform rising up from the middle of the stage, his guitar held up above his head. With economical movements he slipped the strap over his head, winked at his lead guitarist and moving to the microphone belted out the first words to the song.

I was entranced. I had never seen them playing live to such a huge audience before. It wasn't the same watching a performance on DVD and even the intensity of the Glastonbury set could not be matched by actually being in the crowd, listening to the music watching them perform and interact with the audience.

As I knew, Phantom took on a new personality on stage and the slightly quiet; sometimes moody person that I knew was replaced with a gregarious and outgoing performer, pouring his heart and soul into what he was doing. Song after song were played, as he ran around the stage, showing amazing stamina and strength; climbing up the rigging at the side and leaning out over the crowds; surfing over the audience at one stage, their collective mass supporting his weight on their hands.

For one tune he and Jim stood opposite each other; egging each other on by echoing guitar phrases; bouncing a tune back and forth each one adding flourishes and speed to the riffs; the crowd cheering their efforts until the noise was so loud they could barely be heard. The convoluted opening changed into another of their hit songs.

And then as I thought they couldn't raise the bar anymore Phantom approached the microphone, pushed his sweaty hair out of his face and asked the crowd if they wanted to be the first to witness something? The yell that bounced back at him was unanimous; the fans excited by the fact they were getting something new and different. The lead singer replied that this was the first viewing of their new video ever as it wasn't officially released on their website until tomorrow, but as a special treat... He walked off-stage and the screen at the back started to play the video they had shot about a month ago.

I leaned forward in my seat with interest. I remembered Ric filming this; away from Lara and me for the over three days, it was the first time we had been apart since our reunion. He had been unsettled when he had come back from the studios, quiet and introverted for a while, claiming that it had been a difficult and demanding shoot and I worried that he had once again fallen into his withdrawn ways after being so kind and helpful when he had first returned. He had shaken the mood twenty-four hours later however and despite not talking about what had taken place, had returned to once again being the considerate and caring partner and father. I didn't question him further.

I watched as the camera panned in on a bedraggled figure leaning against a wall playing a violin, the opening notes of the latest single. A hoodie top was pulled up over his head, matted locks hanging out from the sides; a battered and scarred violin in his hands with dirty old fingerless gloves on his fingers, worn jeans and scuffed boots; a shapeless old overcoat on top. The camera panned in on his face, covered by a mask; eyes closed as he played before cutting to a gang of boys stereotypically portrayed with shaven heads and thuggish expressions; vicious looking dogs trotting by their sides.

And then slow motion as they attacked the busker, punching him, pulling the hood down and the mask off. The camera panned in on his face and I let out of gasp of horror; my hand involuntarily going to my mouth. The sound was echoed across the auditorium for the face that was shown on the screen was not that of my boyfriend. I knew that he had spent a long time in makeup; his visage being adapted for the video, but was not prepared for the scarred and twisted visage that was currently on fifty foot screens, red and blistered and raw – although Ric's eyes peered out from the makeup. It had been cleverly created; it could be his face, it would fit under the masks that Phantom always wore.

I barely noticed the tears that started to trickle down my cheeks; leaving trails of mascara in their wake as the busker was shown huddled against the wall on his knees; clutching his stomach; his mask lying on the ground at his side. And then cut to the rest of the band approaching, the three good Samaritans, pausing checking he was okay, giving the mask back and helping him to stand. Suddenly the scene changed and there they were on stage in the middle of a sumptuously decorated concert hall, the busker transformed to the rockstar, only the mask remaining the same, the song coming to a head and the crowds standing and cheering their performance. Whilst they hadn't gone for the chandelier falling pyrotechnics exploded and you saw the band standing amongst the burning stage as the audience panicked to get out. It very cleverly merged fact with fiction, the Phantom of the Opera with the Phantom of Cluinn and I could tell that the message boards would go crazy with debate and query if this was art aping true life or the other way around.

And as the video drew to an end the band walked back on stage; their outfits changed; Phantom now in tight leather trousers and a loose muscle t-shirt. He didn't speak; sought no opinion from the audience just launched into 'Light of Day', the crowd once again screaming their approval. As he finished he spoke again.

"Did you like that? Want some more?" More yelling and cheering, whistles and screams in answer and he held up his hands as if begging for silence. "Okay, this is something new, just for you London – the continuation of 'Light of Day' written for the same person. Hope you like it!" And with that he turned away from the audience, cuing in the rest of the band and launching into song. The rhythmic base beat started and he turned, crooning into the microphone.

I barely could concentrate; listening with intensity to the words, my eyes trained on the figure on the stage, wishing and hoping that he was able to see me above the footlights. As he was singing he walked over to the left hand side of the stage, turned slightly lifting his head and sung in my direction and I knew, knew that he was doing it for me. Determined not to cry again I bit my lip, listening to the music crescendo into the climax before the bass beat that had followed the song all the way through closed the final bars.

_If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?_

Forget what we're told  
Before we get too old  
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

_All that I am  
All that I ever was  
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see_

I don't know where  
Confused about how as well  
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here  
If I just lay here  
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I felt a hand slip into mine, an arm around my shoulder and turned and looked at Tatiana on one side of me, Alanya on the other; both their outlines blurry – damn must be crying without realising it. As they finished the worked up crowd burst once again into applause and cheering. This was undoubtedly going to be their next blockbuster, the next song that would catapult them to the top of the popular charts, it had the same catching rhythm, same repetitive hook and yet the words, so achingly beautiful that any woman would dream of having such things written about here.

It also contained a message to me, a very personal one and not one that I could ignore. Trust me it said, give me a chance. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and nodded to myself – tonight, after this concert as long as we didn't have to stay too long. We were due to go back to the flat, not picking Lara up until tomorrow. I glanced down at the bracelet on my wrist and fingered it gently. Typical Ric planned and plotted; he knew exactly how to chip away at my defences slowly and subtly; not delivering the final blow until I was weakened and crumbled under the assault he aimed at me.

With a start I realised they were onto what could only be the final song; the medley of tunes changing; a persistent drumbeat and Phantom introducing the rest of the band, letting them all have their moment in the spotlight as they all took their turn centre stage. "Jim and Ric wrote this for my wedding," Laney shouted at my ear above the pounding music – romantic hey!" I laughed, wiping away at my tears, clapping and cheering with the rest of the thousands in the crowds. "Lyrics are Jim's, can't you tell, so romantic!" I laughed, suddenly flooded with jubilation as I watched the two and a half hours draw to an end. Finally, with a huge burst of fireworks from around the stage and a final flourish on the drums from Sandy, Phantom raised his guitar above his head and slammed down the final cord; his signature finishing piece before they all came to the front, bowing low.

At the insistence of the crowd my boyfriend ripped off his t-shirt, threw it into the hot sweaty mosh pit at the front of the stage; Sandy chucking his drumsticks in and Angus and Jim their guitar plectrums. It was over, totally and utterly over, but my eyes followed them as they trooped off backstage. I turned to my friends. "I want to go and see them, now, got to!" I demanded, every nerve ending in my body alight; the music flooding through my very soul fizzing it up with an energy that flowed right down to my finger tips. I felt wired and hyper; leaking energy and emotions and knew that I just needed to see Ric, kiss him; let him know...

"You and everyone else in this building Izzy; it's will take a little bit of time to get there sweetie. We should have made a move twenty minutes ago if you wanted to get backstage quickly." Alanya explained. My face fell at her comment, but I still insisted we went; forcing my way through the crowds who were flooding out the building. The atmosphere was electric; the singing and chanting still carrying on as if the band were still on stage. Laney was right, it took a good fifteen minutes of pushing, having our passes checked at every doorway and corridor to get through to backstage. I was glad I had taken Ric's advice for he was right, there were groups of screaming fans trying to blag their way in; claiming all sorts of ridiculous tales and offering the most ludicrous favours.

"I am Phantom's girlfriend – I am the one in the song," I heard a girl insist to one security guard, who calmly and firmly told her to please move on; all the time waving us through. The temptation to turn around and tell her the truth was almost too tempting. I just about managed, mainly because Tatiana was pulling me along – obviously as eager to see her boyfriend as I was mine.

We finally made it through to the dressing room, the outer area that had been empty before the show now filled with people all talking and chatting; security guards were stationed at the inner door that was very firmly closed. I felt stupid standing there, waving my laminate at the guard who suspiciously checked my credentials with the boys inside before coming back and ushering us through the barely open door.

They were all topless, Sandy lay spread-eagled on the floor, barefoot and bare-chested; Jim on the sofa with only his boxers. Only Gus had a modicum of respect his trousers still on and a towel draped around his neck as he sat on the stool replacing one of the stings on his guitar. No sign of the lead singer at all. "He's in the shower," Sandy commented from his prone position on the floor- pointing another door – jumped in there first. Would you please go in and tell him to get his arse out, there are people waiting here!"

"Um, okay." I gingerly stepped over the large man taking up most of the walking room and pushed open the bathroom door slightly, recoiling as a waft of steam washed back over me. He was standing at the mirror, his mask off, cleaning his face. He was also naked; his hair in a slight wet snake over his shoulders, covering up some of his tattoos. I met his eyes in the mirror and he held my gaze for a second before I saw him smile. It was tired but happy; a touch triumphant as well. The sight of him, over six foot of totally naked man, one that had just publicly declared his love for me (even though it was in music) muscular and gorgeous and waiting for me to make the first move as he stood at the basin was too much, I could feel my insides melt.

A smile graced his lips again as he saw my glance move up and down over his body. I hadn't seen him naked for ages and realised the effort he must have put into sculpting his body into what it had become. No longer the lanky pale length it had been, he was toned; the muscle definition clearly standing out. I went and stood next to him, leaning against the wall next to the basin so that I faced him, although with his body pressed against the unit, I couldn't see lower down – the smirk he shot be confirmed my suspicions.

"How quickly can you be out of here?" I asked innocently, determinedly not meeting his eyes.

"Together or apart?" He spoke gruffly his voice strained from the vocal gymnastics of the past two and a half hours.

"If we are together people will see us won't they?"

"Yes! It will be official; you will be Phantom's girlfriend."

"I guess apart is safer then." I heaved a sigh. "Although I can be waiting for you..." I trailed off deliberately.

"An hour." The words were bitten out with a degree of frustration. "Need to wait for the others, there will be autograph hunters – fans at the door, need to keep them happy. And then we will go back to the hotel in the car and I will come on from there." He sucked his lips. "Can I have a kiss to keep me going?"

"What's it worth to you? Do I get your t-shirt? Your guitar?" I couldn't help but challenge him.

"And more. Izzy..." He trailed off with a shake of his head as if he didn't know what to say and I saw his shoulders droop slightly. He had misunderstood what I was aiming for.

"Ric." I reached out a hand for him, moved forward and pressed my lips to his, kissing him with all the intensity that was still coursing around my body. "I'll see you at home."

* * *

**Lyrics quoted are 'Chasing Cars' by Snow Patrol**


	52. Chapter 52

**Here we go - been waiting for this! Rated M and all that!**

Chapter 52

It was the light that woke him. Sunlight, pouring in through the curtains shinning in a determined bright way, not allowing it to be ignored, not possible to pretend it was still early, roll over and go back to sleep. This was cruel, he hadn't got to bed until nearly three, surely it was too early to wake up? He shuffled his legs over; pulled the duvet higher up over his head; shifting the pillow down and attempting to get comfortable again when it suddenly occurred to him – he was in Izzy's bed and she had been with him last night. She definitely wasn't there anymore so unless she was asleep on the floor... The thought was enough to spur his mind into action and he sat up, glanced around the room.

Tiredness fought back at the action, but he mentally batted it away and made a quick inventory of everything around him. Izzy's clothes on the chair – check; his mask on the dressing table and clothes in a pile on the floor – check. The travel cot stood empty in the corner, Lara was down with Annabel Cheyne – where the hell was she?

He had been delayed getting back last night. Typically by the time all of them had showered and changed, wound down and fought their way through the crowd two hours had passed. They were chauffeured off to the hotel; pretending that was where they were all staying and not just Gus and Sandy. He had been ready to jump into the nearest taxi when he realised there was another horde of autograph hunters waiting at the entrance – great. He hadn't wanted to draw attention to the fact that he wasn't really residing in the rooms they had booked, worried that fans persistent enough to follow them to their hotel might try and tail him home – not a good idea. And so he had been forced to go upstairs, wait for half an hour, borrow a sweater from Sandy, swap his mask for his prosthetic and sneak out the side entrance. He had texted Izzy and let her know his predicament; she had called him back and laughed down the line. "I will be waiting for you, don't worry."

He had finally got home and found here there, true to her word; waiting on the sofa. The only trouble was that the demands of the day had proved to be too much, she was fast asleep. A wry smile had twisted his lips as he looked down at her, the dark lashes closed over her eyes, her hair a delightfully tousled mess of curls draped around her shoulders. She wasn't wearing her usual greying pyjamas and socks, instead a little satin slip paraded as a nightie, clinging to her rounded curves; her boobs, heavy with milk peeking out the top. She had waited up for him and her clothes, contrary to her parting words told him that she wanted him.

And yet, watching her sleep he didn't have the heart to wake her. Even though his erection strained so hard at his jeans that it hurt; he couldn't put his hand to her shoulder and shake her into opening her eyes. It would have been cruel, demanding. Instead he tortured himself some more and sat studying her for ten minutes, looking at the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, the words to Light of Day running through his mind; once again making sense, being more then just lyrics.

And finally when he couldn't keep his eyes open much longer he picked her up and carried her through to her bed, ridding himself of his clothes; donning pyjamas as a symbolic barrier and curled up next to her, luxuriating in feeling her spine curled against his chest; her legs tangled with his.

And now, the next morning she wasn't there anymore! He edged out of bed and stood up, feeling the weight of his performance rest upon him with aching arms and legs. Another show that night as well; he was going to be seriously sore – amazing how soft you could get in seven weeks! He has so much to do; sound check at one; interview at three and another at five – there was loads of promotional hype surrounding these UK concert dates and the release of their new video. He had heard the stunned emotion in the audience last night, was curious to hear the opinions on the message boards, know what people thought; what was being said.

But none of that was important at the moment. Connecting with Izzy was. It was too easy to push her needs down the list as she was undemanding in her nature; retiring by habit. Instead he was determined to focus on her and her first, everyone else; agents, managers; record labels and radio producers would all have to learn to wait their turn – his girlfriend, the mother of his child; his future wife came first.

He stopped at the thought; the word jarring in his brain as if someone had spoken it out loud. Wife. He hadn't really entertained the thought – hadn't allowed himself to view that far ahead; instead living each day by itself without planning for the future. He wanted the rest of his life to be entwined with Isabella's and was reluctant to do anything that might be viewed as the contrary. As she was insisting on the elaborate ritual of're-connecting' he went along with it – whatever was necessary.

But yesterday, when he had wanted to buy her a special gift he found himself unsure and confused. Walking past the windows of the jewellers in Hatton Gardens and looking at the displays in the windows, he kept finding himself drawn to the engagement rings – but it was too soon; despite all her actions proclaiming her love she still hadn't uttered the words to him and he wasn't going to ask until she verbally spoke the phrase.

He remembered how she had been so insistent he had once said them to her, how she had become so upset when he found it difficult to tell her what his heart kept shouting out. Love was a confusing and difficult emotion to handle and one that he was more comfortable at observing from the sidelines then wading into headfirst. He had always believed love was forever; people like his Grandparents, or Alanya and Jim, not his messy fucked up view of the world. But when he had finally said it, when he had eventually told her that he had loved her, it was as if his very soul (that he had long ago believed he had lost) had slammed into his heart and bound it to her – he knew that he would never love anyone else in the same way ever again. It was powerful, it was also exceedingly scary.

And with such intense emotions came jealousy, burning white hot anger at the sight of that blonde haired fop with his easy good looks hanging on Izzy's every word. He has tried to shrug the emotion off; to tell himself he was paranoid; that his girlfriend – his love; would never cheat on him. And then Tatiana telling him in her airy fairy way that they was a relationship there; that they were an item. In hindsight, with the cold light of experience and calm emotion backing him he could rationalise; understand that Ralph sister had been conjecturing; something she had a tendency to do he had come to understand as he got to know her better. But that evening the suspicion had got the better of him and he had accused Izzy of everything his tortured brain could dredge up; placed the blame without a scrap of anything other than anecdotal evidence.

By the time he had got his emotions under control he realised that damage he had inflicted on the one person he loved beyond everything and the relationship between them; it was too late. The whisky was just a way to numb the pain. It could have been any alcohol, that was just the first bottle that came to hand – the fifty year old malt that Jim had stashed at the warehouse as he didn't want any of his family or Alanya discovering that he had appropriated it from the drinks cupboard at Granthorn.

He knew that the look on Izzy's face when she caught him on the tour bus would be etched into his brain forever. The pale visage, the shocked O of her mouth as she saw what was happening. He had fought Mike and Jim as they had tied them up, lashed out; kicking them and trying to punch – they had just laughed, thought it was funny. And when he realised there was no way he could avoid it he had closed his eyes, tried as hard as he could to distance himself from the act. His body might enjoy it, but in his brain he was with Izzy.

"Shit!" The words came out involuntarily and he glanced around the room, realising that he was still standing by the bed, shaking with emotion, his legs aching. Why was he dredging up all the past emotion? As Izzy had said they could blame each other for the rest of their lives, but it was time to move on. He inhaled deeply through his nose and walked to the door, pulling it open and moving down the small hall to the main living room.

She was sitting in her chair, the large blanket from the spare bed draped around her shoulders; a photo album open on her lap. "Iz?" he queried softly, not quite sure what she was doing. She lifted up red rimmed eyes – she had been crying, not so good. And yet the smile that she flashed at him was sunny, her voice level.

"Hey, you awake already? It's only nine." He gave a one shouldered shrug, not quite sure what to say. "What time did you get in?"

" Just after two in the end."

"And I guess I had fallen asleep on the couch?" She blushed slightly as she spoke and he returned the grin, charmed by her embarrassment.

"Sleeping beauty. But I couldn't bear to wake you." He hesitated unsure what to say next. It was more difficult in the daytime, the morning, both of them in their pyjamas trying to hold onto the privacy of the night ignoring the pressing schedules they had to fulfil. And yet he needed the intimacy they had missed out on, had to connect whilst he still had a chance. "D'you want to come back to bed if I promise to make you a cup of tea?"

"Tempting." She stood up, placing the album on the coffee table in front of her, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. The satin slip had been replaced with a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt from his drawer – more typical but not quite so glamorous. She noticed the confused glance he ran over her night attire. "Sorry for borrowing your clothes, but I didn't want to wake you up searching for clean pyjamas – my milk started to flow and I woke up with it trailing down my front..." She bit her lip in embarrassment, blushing again.

"Don't be – it doesn't matter and I am sure a Radio 1 t-shirt has never looked lovelier." He crossed the distance in two steps, gathering her into his arms hugging her, the 'rules' be dammed. He wanted this woman; wanted her so god damn bad – even wearing his large oversized clothes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling his body wake up get excited that she was in his arms and not struggling to be released, instead she rested her head against his chest; wrapped her arms around his. He returned the gesture, holding her tight against him, feeling the weight of her body as she relaxed in his arms; listening to the silence as they stood and hugged each other for an achingly beautiful minute, not feeling the need to interrupt the peace with words or music.

Finally she shifted, withdrew from the embrace and took a step back. "How 'bout that cup of tea then?" The request was delivered with a cheeky grin and he found his hand involuntarily coming up, cupping her face.

"Go and get back into bed," his voice was gruff with emotion and he breathed in heavily, trying to control his rampaging lust and desire. Part of him wanted to take her right here and now on the living room floor, but that wouldn't do. He watched her walk back to the bedroom, her hips swinging unconsciously, possibly as sexually wound up as he was; even if she was unaware. He stood frozen for several seconds, trying to bring his emotions under control, regulate his breathing and concentrate on something other then removing Isabella's clothes and making love to her.

He finally returned to the bedroom, two mugs clutched in his hands and stopped by the bed. She had puffed up the pillows, opened the curtains slightly and put some soft classical music on to play. All in all it made for a very tempting scene, welcoming, a huge contrast to the lonely beds and empty hotel rooms that had symbolised his life on tour. "Tea," he could hear the strain in his voice and it wasn't just from singing last night. She held out her hands for the cup with a welcoming smile, shifting over slightly and flipping the covers back so he could slide in next to her, the invitation was unmistakable.

He climbed in next to her, slid his legs down under the covers now delightfully cool and straight and lent back against the pillows with a sigh, taking a sip of his tea and closing his eyes. He wasn't quite sure what to do; sure she had allowed him back into her bed; even more had allowed him to hug and kiss her – but there was still no verbal invitation to join with her – to resume their relationship as it once was.

That sat in silence for a few minutes, as he desperately trying to find a neutral topic, to speak talk about something less inflammatory and difficult then getting back together. "What did you think about last night? It was quite good." He asked finally. The question elicited a snort in response from the woman next to him.

"That's rather mild Ric. You make it sound like we went out for a meal or a movie, not that you performed a concert to a massive crowd."

"Have to keep it in context or everything explodes and becomes ego driven. Tell me honestly what you thought?" He turned to her, his desire waning slightly because suddenly he wanted to hear the opinion of the woman he did it all for; his muse and focus. If she didn't like it – shit, he might as well leave the band tomorrow.

"Which bit?" Damn it, was she being deliberately obtuse? Then he remembered, Izzy broke things down, didn't gush and shower praise but was quieter and more prophetic in giving her view.

"Start from the top." He drained his mug of tea, wiping his mouth the back of his hand and rolled over slightly, angling his body towards her, suddenly excited and nervous to know what she thought. It was rather like receiving reviews in the early days, when a journalists words could make or break.

"Opening sequence was really good – I liked the use of the pounding drums – I bet Sandy's arms ache after a concert like that?"

"Yes, but he's a fit bloke, go on." He was impatient.

"I liked your entrance; that was cool; really held back and made the crowd get worked up. You put a lot of energy into performing don't you? Guess you are aching this morning?" He let out a small laugh. Aching, that was putting it mildly, he felt like he had done ten rounds in the boxing ring.

"Nothing a hot bath won't fix," he replied flippantly. "Do you think the songs from 'Carthesis' meld well enough with those from 'In the Beginning'? She hesitated, pouting slightly as she considered his question.

"Yes," she said after a lengthened pause. "Although I noticed no 'Broken'. That's a good bridging song if you ask me. And 'Burn it Down' came a bit too early, could have been a couple of songs later." She looked over at him and her eyes widened slightly. "But Ric, these are minor details, please don't take them to heart, I don't mean to criticise."

"You're not and I'm not; don't worry."

"But you're frowning." He realised his brow was furrowed, but that was because he had been concentrating on her face, watching the movement of her lips and eyes; paying less attention to what she was saying and more to how she was saying it. Her expression was concentrated; focused on the subject and what she was saying made sense. It came in a flash, he didn't want to hear about lighting sequences and order of songs; crowd response or critical review, what he really wanted to know was her opinion about the video and 'Forget the World' – their newest song, written for her in one afternoon - another Isabella special; which always seemed to be hits for some reason.

"Sorry didn't mean to. Couldn't sing 'Broken' as the girl I use; Bea – she was at Glasto, but she's currently touring. Hoping to meet up for the Glasgow concert and sing it there." He hefted a sigh. "What did you think of the video?" He said it, went straight for the jugular needing to hear what she thought.

"What did I think?" Her eyebrows were raised so high they were in danger of disappearing into her hairline. "Ric!" The pitch of her voice immediately alerted him to the fact that she was moved by it in some way. A breath in and out and her brow settled; her tone became calmer. "Lot of makeup involved, how long did it take each day?"

"Two and a half hours – pretty shit really."

"And are you happy with the final result?" Damn it, his old trick of reflecting a question back. He hefted a sigh.

"I still don't like the storyline, but I think that is much more for personal reasons. If objectively viewed it as a video then yeah – they've done a good job and it is bound to incite debate and that means people watching it; discussing it – shock tactics I guess."

"Except the debate is going to be 'Are those your Phantom's real features or not, is that what he is covering up?'"

"Yes, I know. There was some talk about making me up like for a concert or an appearance and then accidentally arranging for a mask to fall off, so people think it might be real." He shook his head. "I said no; don't want to carry it on, don't want to merge this with what the band is about, who we are. Phantom wears a mask; final – now listen to the music."

"Very sensible too as it would be a one trick pony. There is a lot of debate about the mask being a prop piece anyway!" He shot her a look at the comment, wondering how she knew and she blushed. "Okay, I still pass by the message boards on the website, old habits die hard you know." She hefted another sigh. "Bet they are buzzing at the moment as well – what time did the video go live?" He glanced at his watch – half past nine.

"Half an hour ago." He shook his wrist to make his bracelet slide back down his arm; it had a tendency to get caught up with his watch strap, occasionally trapping hairs underneath in a small but painful plucking action. He noticed Izzy watching, glancing down at the similar jewellery on her wrist where it sat tightly on her slim arm. "Do you like it?" He gestured to the silk and silver that sat there, suddenly unsure of his gift; confused by everything. At least his erection had subsided as they debated the concert and he was no longer breathless from the desire running through his body.

"I love it." Another frown. "But why Ric? That is what I want to know, because I am confused. You give me a _friendship_ bracelet and then sing me a song you've written for me about trust and love. Do you want to be my friend or ..." She trailed off and looked down at the duvet cover; her finger tracing the floral pattern on the sheet. He sat there stunned; amazed that she spoke as directly as she had. Clarity suddenly cleaved his brain; the realisation that what he said now would have a huge impact on the rest of his life. He could do it two ways; softly and gently as had been his approach the past seven weeks; or directly for the jugular, the way he tended to do things on stage; when she couldn't react so easily.

"I want you to be my wife Izzy," he spoke gruffly; emotion rushing into his throat clogging the words; trying to prevent them from escaping. "You are my best friend; you are the mother of our child, but I want the complete package." He closed his eyes and sighed, amazed when he opened them that his view was blurred with tears, he didn't mean to cry; loose his control in this way! "I'm sorry; this isn't planned, I didn't mean to ask you like this, but Izzy can we please stop this stupid dancing around? Please? I don't know how to prove to you anymore that I am sorry and regret what I have done in the past." Shit, he could feel the tears trickle out of his eyes now and he backhanded them out the way. "Look, what I am trying to say; very badly and totally unprepared and unrehearsed is; I love you and will you marry me? Will you be my wife?" He shifted himself to kneeling, grabbing her hand and holding it pressed to his chest; knowing her reaction was paramount; silently chastising himself for the boorish way he had asked. It had just tumbled out; he hadn't meant it to happen. He closed his eyes taking in a deep breath. He didn't care that she had told him the words; he knew he couldn't be without her.

Small slim fingers rested against his face; wiping the tears away for him and he opened his eyes to see hers boring into his; sparkling blue. He could lose himself in those eyes. The silence stretched as she starred at him, blinking slightly; a hesitant smile trembling around her mouth before she opened it and whispered the words he wanted to hear.

"I love you. Yes." His grip tightened involuntarily and he pulled her towards him so that she fell into his arms; his lips sought hers for a kiss. She said she loved him had said yes; he had a future – with her; with Lara. She let out a slight giggle. "But can you stop strangling me or it won't be a very long engagement," she requested from the folds of his arms, battling herself back to sitting, tears also making her eyes shine with moisture.

* * *

It was a bright but cold day as the plane took off into the sky above London; the engine whining as it climbed. He settled back into the luxurious leather seats, glancing across at his fiancé; noticing her worried face as she fussed with their daughter. Lara was wailing; the piercing noise carrying above the sounds of take-off; unused to the change in air pressure on her ears. He noticed Izzy fumbling with her top; pulling it up and clasping Lara to her boob; letting her feed as a way of relieving the pain and distracting her from the strange sensation.

Ric untied the scarf he had fastened around his neck; draping it across Izzy shoulder and over Lara's head so that the personal act was not on view to the other seven people in the aircraft. She shot him a grateful smile and mouthed her thanks and love at him; the words silent but noted.

He reached for her hand; felt the sharp dig of metal and stone into his palm as she linked fingers with him; his fingers squeezing against hers, trying to convey his love. They had been engaged for three weeks now and yet every day it was as if they had just met. From finding it hard to say words of love to Izzy, now he just wanted to shout them all the time; the emotions bubbling over.

As fate would have it; no sooner had they pledged their lives to each other, then the demands of his job wrenched them apart again. Despite pleading with Izzy that she follow the tour as they moved to Cardiff and Belfast she refused, calmly reasoning that backstage was no place for a small child and with no one else to look after Lara she was not going to interrupt their daughter's calm routine and expose her to the noisy; messy world her father inhabited.

As predicted the release of their new single and video created debate and intense emotion with their fans and Cluinn found themselves in demand to explain and defend their choices. It had even made the national news; much to Tatiana's delight and the band's confusion. From teary tributes to what people believed to be his face; to condemnation by facial disfigurement charities for using such a problem to sell records, it seemed that everyone was talking about the band and their music. The single climbed higher in the charts and a week before Christmas was hanging in the top five; everyone questioning if they would get another end of year number one.

It had been a manic three weeks. Two sold out concerts, countless television and public appearances and all he wanted to do was draw the curtains and take Izzy to bed. They hadn't had much time and privacy to themselves and he hadn't yet found the right moment to make love to her. Even though he had moved back into her bed and they slept wound in each other's arms every night they could; he still hadn't been able to persuade her to let him have sexual relations once more.

She was scared; he could tell that. When Lara had been born she had torn badly she had admitted and whilst healed she still had a tendency to tense up when his fingers, tongue or body moved too close to that area. He knew it would take time and patience; long, slow foreplay so that her body heated and rose beneath him and they just hadn't had the time. The brief attempts he had made had been unsuccessful and he was so unwilling to hurt her in the slightest that he always withdrew. Patience – he had proven to himself he had it by the bucket load these past months; just needed it a little bit longer. He doubted they would have much of an opportunity at his Grandparents.

The action of feeding lulled Lara to sleep and the rest of the flight passed uneventfully as he watched their daughter sleep in Isabella's arms; her small hand resting on her mother's arm with absolute love and trust. He knew that his grandparent's were beside themselves with excitement at meeting their great-grandchild; the engagement was to be a surprise – the icing on the cake. They should be at the hotel; waiting to meet them before he was hustled off for a sound check; preparing for that night's concert.

The usual process had to be carried as they landed; leaving the airport to hoards of screaming fans; posing for photographs and ushered away in cars by their security. Izzy had been quite firm on the fact that she did not wish to expose Lara or herself to the media circus that seemed to follow them on their tour and a separate car had been arranged to take her; Laney and Tatiana to the hotel; avoiding the spotlight.

It seemed as if she was coming to terms with his identity and place in the band as well as the world of music making. No longer outwardly scared or ruffled by the brooding Phantom persona he adopted as lead singer; she had persuaded Cluinn to hand their PR over to Tatiana and worked alongside her friend to promote their latest album and single. It felt good to be working with her again; even if she was teasingly scornful when he got too serious about it all.

It felt as if half of Glasgow had turned out to meet him and he hoped that his grandparents had not encountered any problems getting through the scrum. He found the screaming chanting pushing crowds intimidating and he was used to it – goodness knows how his older family would feel exposed to the hordes. It took them a good hour to work their way through the crowd, signing autographs, posing for photos and conducting an interview with the local radio station. He was exhausted by the time they were led up to their suite.

His grandparents were there; his grandmother's arms already around Lara; a smile on her face splitting it in two; his grandfather standing by the window; peering down at the controlled chaos outside. "Hey," he greeted them as he walked in; his hand going to his face in self-consciousness. He was dressed as Phantom and it jarred with the image he always presented to his family; even if they were aware of his 'day job'. Pausing a moment he pulled the mask off and dropped it onto a side table.

"Richard!" His grandmother looked up at him, standing with his daughter in her arms; a smile on her face that was so radiant she shed her age. It could have been his younger brother she was holding from fifteen years ago she looked so suddenly youthful.

"Gram." He walked towards her; enveloping her and his daughter in a hug, laughing as Lara leant forward determined to be transferred from arm to arm. He picked her up with an easy motion; moving over to Izzy pressing a kiss to her lips and winding his arm around body – sealing the family unit again. "Have you said anything?" he asked sotto voiced; smiling briefly when she shook her head.

"Gramps; Gram," he turned to the two older people; his Grandfather moving away from the window smiling at him as he came and stood by his wife's side. "We wanted you to know that Izzy has agreed to marry me, we are engaged." He rushed through the words; not wanting to pause and let senselessness overtake him which seemed to be the habit these days whenever he expressed his emotions. His Grandmother gave a gasp of joy; jumping up from the chair which she had sat in; kissing Isabella on the cheek before giving him a hug.

"Richard – _gaol_. I am so glad; so glad for the both of you. And you are doing the right thing; cementing and providing for your little girl. Oh my dearest boy!" He felt his heartstrings tug; his grandmother was rarely so effusive in her endearments and yet she stood there her eyes filled with tears; her face in a smile.

"Well done son;" his Grandfather gave him a one armed hug; shaking his hand at the same time. It seems a pretty mad sort of life you have here;" he nodded his head towards the window, "but together you will be stronger. Well done."

"Have you thought about a date; when; where?" His Grandmother cut in and Ric found himself glancing over at Izzy with panic. She laughed lightly.

"No Elsie, we haven't, although I think we will wait until Lara if fully weaned, so that we can have more then a one night honeymoon. I want to feed her until she is a year and then..." She trailed off with a slight blush; obviously embarrassed to be discussing such personal matters out in the open, but his Grandmother simply nodded.

"How verra' sensible of you my dear. We will gladly look after her when you want to escape. Now, what are your plans for today? Do you have to fight your way through that mad mob again?" She nodded towards the window and Ric found himself drifting over, wanting to see if the crowd had dispersed. It was thinner, but there was still an alarmingly large amount of people present.

"No, I'll go out the back, it's easier." He shrugged and glanced over at his fiancée with a frown. "Izzy, are you planning on staying here?"

"No. No, Lara needs her lunch and then a nap. I think I will go back with your Grandparents, it is easier; don't want to be stuck in a hotel room all afternoon."

"The bedroom is made up ready and waiting," his Grandmother interjected. "And we got your old cot down from the loft Richard, it is all set up in your old room; well the study now since you changed it round – you will be comfortable." He paused; glancing again at Izzy; wanting her to say something to contradict the cosy plan that had been formed. The vague idea had been to stay here; in the hotel for at least one night, have a bit of privacy by putting Lara in the living room they were standing in and repairing to the bedroom themselves. But if Izzy was going back to Drumchapel; either he would have to creep in very late or spend a night in this hotel by himself. Neither was that appealing. But she didn't say anything, obviously opting for the more sensible and child friendly plan; one that didn't hold her a virtual prisoner alone in a hotel. With a nod he succumbed; he would see how he was at the end of the concert before making a call – it might be fairer on the sleeping occupants to bunk down here. He swept the room with a glance; after all it was one of the top suites; it was not as if he would be uncomfortable.

With a tender kiss to his girlfriend and more hugs with wishes of good luck from his grandparents he watched the small party depart; a strange ache in his heart; similar to the one he used to have when he had to leave his family and return back to choral school after an exeat. He had a sound check at one; but for an hour he was a free agent. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Thankfully the joint distractions of his e-mails and the internet filled the gap in time; the sound check took up the afternoon and by four he and the rest of the band were incarcerated in another dressing room waiting once again. They were all restless, slightly fed up. It was rather like the end of term; this was the last concert of their world tour and then they had no more scheduled plans. The vague idea was to take a year off; explore other projects; write some more music and emerge at the end with an album, but to do it slowly taking time to reconnect with their friends and families, once again interact with society.

His gaze glanced over the other band members – his friends. Gus and Tatiana were still together; although he was not sure about the longevity of the relationship. He had grown to like Tatty; her forthright loud manner hiding a more sensitive character and inherent shyness that she had to work hard to overcome. The only trouble was that whilst she was clearly falling hard for Angus; he wasn't sure the bass player felt quite the same. He shrugged; hey people would probably never have put he and Izzy down as a couple; love had a habit of pulling some strange tricks.

Jim – his brow furrowed in concern as he looked at his lead guitarist. He was worried about his friend whose customary spliff had increased into more of a habit. Speed seemed to be the usual drug of choice; possibly to give him the energy to pull of the intense performances that Cluinn were known for. Ric hadn't said anything as yet; after all he was hardly lily white; Jim would never accept any lecturing from him. Maybe now they were home and if Laney got to try for a baby as she so desperately wanted she would pull him back into line.

Only Sandy bought a smile to his face. As Izzy had once said he was like a Labrador, happy bouncy; always willing to please, always ready for fun and excitement and loyal to the end. But recently he had made a few cryptic comments; talking about the way the other band members were settling down; finding partners – getting married. Maybe he wasn't quite as contended as he first seemed. Yeah; they all really needed some down time; sort their heads out.

"Tom." Pete's voice broke his concentration and he looked up with a smile.

"Give me good news, please!"

"Nope!" The grizzly tour manager shook his head and sat down on the arm of an uncomfortable cubic armchair. "Bea says she had absolutely no voice; her temperature is up – there is no way she can sing tonight."

"Shit!" His swear was heartfelt. He had wanted 'Broken' to be performed tonight. As Izzy had correctly summarized it helped create a link between the slower moving ballads and the heavier rock music. But as his chosen voice was currently ill with a bad case of 'flu it wasn't going to happen. He remembered performing on stage last Christmas when he shouldn't have and would not force anyone to do the same. "We are going to have to reorganise the songs and dump it." He sat down in the chair, grabbing the set list off his tour manager and scanning the order of the songs; the lighting sequence and cue sheet.

"Dump what?" The female tones made him look up; his jaw hanging open as he saw Isabella standing in front of him, a smile on her face and a skin tight pair of trousers on coupled with a slinky top; the back cut out and high heels. He realised he was goggling her and shut his mouth with a snap.

"What are you doing here? Where's Lara?" The words came out more aggressively then he intended shocked by the sight of her standing in front of him, especially looking so damn sexy.

"Hello to you too. Your Grandparents volunteered to look after her and she seemed totally happy with them, so I am having a night off. Did you know I am not on the guest list? You grandmother is, but I am not; I had to pretend to be a seventy year old woman to get in!" She hefted a sigh before repeating her question. "What do you have to dump, not me I hope?"

"No, not you." He reached out an arm and drew here down on to his lap; his hand going to her waist; her amazing chest highlighted in the t-shirt. His libido decided to wake up and his erection started to put in an untimely appearance. He battled against the effect it had on his brain, draining him of rational thought. "Um, Bea – the girl I was dueting with; she's sick can't sing – have to dump the song so need to reorganise."

"Which song?"

"Broken," Pete exhaled heavily through his nose. "Swear that song is cursed you know, always creates problems, but it is always a case of perform it versus everyone getting pissed off because it isn't included. Think you need to say why it isn't it the line-up Tom, elicit sympathy. Now do you want to add a song or increase second half opening and insert 'Feeling' in its place?"

Ric dragged his attention away from the woman on his lap who was currently shifting her body weight slightly; almost as if she were feeling for his penis through his jeans, deliberately trying to arouse him. But he was sure that wasn't what she was doing, too out of character. But then so was her turning up unplanned and uninvited at a gig looking like; he ran his eyes over her body; wearing, shit they were such sexy clothes. He heard his tour manager shout his name and refocused his concentration to the issue in hand.

"Can't you get someone else to sing it?" Izzy enquired from her tantalising position, bending over and peering at the set list; her boobs peeking out her top. Another rush of blood – away from his head.

"Not at this late stage, only four hours until stage." Ric shrugged.

"Well, what about me?" He blinked as his brain digested the words.

"Come again? Did you just volunteer to just sing?" He shook his head, a slight smile on his lips. "I am dreaming aren't I? I am gonna' wake up and still be on tour in Australia or something – the past three months have been a dream, no more. You aren't not seriously sitting on my lap offering to sing a song to a crowd of ten thousand, having vowed to never sing another note in public, are you? God, I don't want to wake up!" He took her hand in his, nope his ring was on her finger; bracelet on her wrist with their initials engraved on it.

"Possibly you are dreaming, but do you want me to sing or not? It's just if you do I would appreciate a quick run through – bit different from singing to Lara and don't think the audience would appreciate 'Wind the Bobbin Up' in quite the same way!

He needed no further encouragement and with no more then a few words to the boys they were standing on the empty stage; the auditorium yawning away in the distance, waiting to be filled by the impatient audience outside. He struck up the first chords singing into the microphone the words flowing out automatically and he was barely aware when Izzy joined in on exactly the right beat. And then she opened her mouth and started to sing against Sandy's drumbeat, Angus' bass and Jim's rhythm. He stopped playing, listening to her voice, marvelling in its clarity and purity. He had not heard her sing for the past three months except to Lara and yet here she was the words falling from her mouth as if she had been performing alongside them for the past year and a half. With a start he realised he had missed a few cues and picked up the last verse, dueting with his fiancée. It was a clean run through and he ran a shaky hand through his head, amazed at what he had just heard. "Yeah okay, you can sing then," he forced out on a laugh; too stunned to say much more.

* * *

They stumbled into the darkened room together; lips locked, legs entwined. He could barely pause for breath as he fumbled the card into the slot and searched for the light switch. "Oh god Izzy;" he groaned as he felt her tongue dip into his ear as he bent down. "Don't do that please my love. I'm in pain here; serious pain – I've had an erection for the past six hours." She simply laughed low and throaty with passion.

"Interesting predicament. Is that why you were holding your guitar lower this evening?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"No, just to me as I was looking for it." She wrapped her arms around his waist again and leant back looking into his face. "Well Mr Stewart, you have me all to yourself, alone in this hotel room – what are you planning on doing with me?"

"Well," he leered at her. "Despite you looking so hot you are melting me; I think I might have to take all your clothes off and then lay you on the bed and make sure that you are thoroughly kissed and licked from your head to your toes – how does that sound for starters?" She laughed in reply and started to walk backwards to the connecting bedroom; dragging him alone by a fist wrapped in his t-shirt. "Izzy!" It was meant to come out as a chastising warning, instead it sounded more like a plea; a begging note. He didn't know what drugs she had taken, what fairy godmother had listened to his wishes; what deity had answered his prayers, all he knew was that his fiancée was acting out of character and he was so aroused he could barely walk or form coherent thoughts.

Her knees hit the back of the bed and it only took a slight push for her to collapse backwards against the luxurious sheets; moving her arms above her head. He lowered himself, straddling across her body; the leather trousers he had worn on stage gripping against her skin – they hadn't bothered to get changed; barely even cooled down – instead they threw coats on and raced back to the hotel; sneaking in the back entrance – autograph hunters would be unlucky tonight.

He pulled the gauzy fabric of her top down; unhooking her bra so her boobs were released full and heavy against her chest. God they were magnificent! He grabbed them in his hand; rolling their size between his palms and pushing them together witnessing the cleavage. He bent his head low and suckled on the nipple; enjoying the sensation; ignoring the slightly panicky voice of Izzy as she noticed what he was doing.

"Ric!" He continued, before lifting his head and moving to the other breast. Suddenly a stream of milk hit him in the face. He paused and wiped it.

"Oh!" The laugh she gave was slightly strained and she pushed herself to sitting; grabbing the abandoned bra and reaching for the pads inside; pressing them to her breasts which had started to stream with milk. "Shit!" He looked at her in concern; his brow furrowing, the moment lost. He hadn't realised that was going to happen – hadn't associated his daughter's presence with the changes to Izzy's body. He pushed himself away from the bed and swiftly went into the bathroom, returning with a towel. "I'm sorry; didn't think." She laughed again as she accepted it from him, easier this time as she wiped her front, dabbing the mark on the sheet.

"Don't be Ric, I usually feed Lara just before she goes to bed so my milk is all in and I am ready for a feed." She looked at him and then rose to her knees, winding her arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Let's go and have a shower – that will be less...messy!"

He stood up staring at the carpet, his hands on his hips feeling his passion and potential drain away. All the emotion that he had been riding on was dampened down by his boorish actions, why hadn't he held back waited. "Hey?" He looked up and saw her standing there, her bra back on, but no top. "Ric, don't worry about it, come on let's have a shower, I am so sweaty." He cracked a smile at that – there was no point brooding about it, Izzy didn't seem to mind, guess it was part of being a mother. He shucked his boots off, glad to rid his body of the extra weight. They make look the part, but were heavy to wear; added more weight to his body; pushed the black domino mask off his face and dropped it next to them. "And the trousers!" She nodded to the leather pants with a smile and at the sight of her cheeky grin he felt the passion flood back into his body. His hands went to the belt and he unbuckled it, opening his flies, letting his penis fall out – they were too tight to wear any underwear underneath. "Commando hey?" She was the one have a leering smile on her face now.

He shrugged at her reaction and continued to peel the trousers off his leg, feeling the air against his legs; kicking them off into a heap. "Your turn!" His voice was gruff; his body suddenly alive and wanting her – desiring her to the point of pain. She shot him a smile and lifted her leg; placing the knee length black boot on the wall next to him, her eyebrows raised. He unzipped them, pulling them off her legs; kneeling at her feet and pulling her trousers down; pressing his mouth to small triangle of black lace that masqueraded as underwear. There was no doubt about it; she had dressed tonight for this moment.

It was a long shuddering breath he took as he pulled away from her and stood up; leading her into the bathroom and turning on the huge rain shower that took up a corner of the bathroom. "Hey, this is a nice suite – bigger then my bedroom at home!" She wandered over to the sink, staring at her eyes in the mirror; lifting her hands and running them through her hair. He could barely control himself and came up behind her, pushing his groin into her back, cupping her boobs with his hands; kissing her neck.

"Come and have a shower!" He unfastened her bra and let it fall to the floor, pulled off his t-shirt and pulled her under the stream of warm water with him, reluctant to break the embrace; let her go. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood slightly on tiptoe; kissing him back. It was as if the past year had never happened, like there was never an argument or split – the passion and love that was in the kiss was more intense and deeper then anything he had experienced. He barely noticed the water pouring over him as he kissed her and was kissed back with a single minded concentration, small pecks on the lips; deeper fuller kisses, scrapping his teeth over her jaw line and nibbling on her ear. Minutes or possibly hours passed by as he rediscovered the pleasures of simply holding Izzy in his arms and pressing his lips to hers.

It was only as he noticed she was shivering slightly that he turned the water off and led her out the shower; wrapped her in a big fluffy towel and proceeded to dry her with all the love and attention he gave to Lara after her bath. "Ric, please don't," she protested as he towelled between her toes and up her legs, rubbing her arms and her stomach, drying her shoulders and wrapping her hair up before passing her a dressing gown. The water still clung to his body in droplets and he impatiently brushed them off, no time to waste on him, it would be a second without Izzy, without touching her and relearning her body.

"Come to bed with me," he murmured thickly in her ear; his voice heavy with lust and she nodded, her pupils dilated; her breathing slightly heavy – damn it she was as turned on as he was. He had to resist the urge to push her against the marble worktop and take her then and there. But this was not some groupie; not a quick shag – this was the love of his life and he was damn well going to do it her way.

They crawled under the duvet; her body wrapped in the thick flannel dressing gown pushed against his, shivering slightly with the cold as they body temperatures equalised and she relaxed against him. He shifted slightly so she lay in his arms and he gently dipped his hand into the open V of the robe; letting his fingers dance across her breasts, wary of stimulating them too much again; instead working down, pressing his fingers against the opening between her legs.

He felt her relax into him, continued the exploration with her fingers, listened as her sighs of contentment changed to pants; increasing to moans of encouragement and desire. Soon the robe was discarded, flung off the bed and she lay back her neck a long column of white; her hair a black waterfall spilling onto the pillow as she arched back, presenting herself to be touched by him. He lowered his head; his tongue replacing where his fingers had been all the while feeling her response; hearing her breathing grow more ragged with every second. And so he rose up again; straddled her body; pressed his to her and with immense self-control and as slowly as he could; his body physically shaking with the effort he pushed into her.

It was like being welcomed home as he slid in; her body responding, opening up to him and he pushed deeper and further murmuring to her all the while; kissing her repeatedly. He felt her body grip him and it was almost too much; was a blink away from loosing all self-control – oh to make love to a woman, to join with someone you had wanted and desired for so long, fought so hard for.

Clarity came to him in a flash and he realised how every painful second they had been apart; every difficult minute of their reconciliation had collided at this point; contributing to the intense emotion pouring off the both of them. He had made love to Izzy before; he had never given himself over body and soul. He suddenly knew what she meant when she had said that she just wanted to unzip him and climb inside. "Ditto" he softly said to himself.

And that thought was too much; it drove him over the edge and he felt himself pouring into her, the same moment she came with a silent scream; gripping him tightly, the waves of her orgasm riding over him as she clutched and gasped at his body; her blindly looking; mouth working with voiceless words.

And as they sunk back down to earth and he slowly slid from her, rolling her off the damp sheets to the other side of the huge bed, he took her in his arms and kissed her again, her lips swollen and bruised under his assault. "Izzy, my love, my wife – I will love you forever."


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter 53

I woke early on Christmas morning, alert to the sounds of activity from the room next door; the walls not thick enough to keep out the cheery babbling as Lara addressed her soft toys in turn. Ric was nothing more then a large lump underneath the duvet next to me; snoring softly – his head half buried under the sheets as was his way. Our status as engaged couple, or possibly parents meant that we had been granted the privilege of sharing a bedroom and for the past few nights I had fallen asleep in his arms.

But in the semi-gloom of the winter's day, I knew that he would not want to wake up for a while. He, Elsie and I had gone to Midnight Mass; Brian left with the responsibility of minding his great-granddaughter; which as she was asleep was not a hardship. Instead the three of us went along to the modern church, filing into a front row seat for the carol concert that came before. I was slightly upset to see that my fiancée was not in formal Scottish dress and instead wore a suit and tie, his hair formally tied back from his face in a queue. He claimed he didn't want to draw any attention to himself and I suppose he was right – it was hard not to look twice at Richard in a suit; a kilt would probably have them fainting in the aisles.

Instead I slipped on my warm dressing gown and slid into the next door room; my daughter sitting up in her cot; chatting away to the toys we left in there, blissfully unaware that it was only six in the morning. As soon as she saw me she beamed a smile; the unformed words merging into something that I was sure sounded like 'mamma' although it was debatable. Ric blindly insisted she said 'Da' although that was more because it was part of her repertoire of noises. And then to my great surprise she grabbed hold of the bars of the cot and pulled herself up to a standing position; bouncing up and down slightly; testing the thirty year old fixings on the bed.

"Darling, you are standing up; is this a new trick?" I addressed her, my voice high with surprise. She lifted her arms up to be picked up and then promptly fell over onto her bottom, causing me to laugh – and her to let out an indignant wail. "Hush sweetheart!" I gathered her up in my arms, cuddling her to me before laying her down on the mat and swiftly changing her wet nappy. It was cold and dark still and I briefly debated going downstairs with returning to bed, not that there was much of a contest and I quickly hurried back to the spare room and cuddled down under the covers, clamping her to my breast and letting her take the morning feed.

A large warm arm draped itself over my body; cuddling up next to me and I glanced over in the gloom to see the faint glint of my fiancée's eye wink back. "What's the time?"

"Six, you know our daughter has no respect for lie-ins!" I whispered back, not wanting to disturb my feeding child.

"Oh." He yawned and I thought he would drift off back to sleep. Instead he stretched, involuntarily pushing the duvet off Lara and me. I snatched it back up with my spare hand and snuggled down again, Lara fussing slightly as she lost my nipple. "D'you want some tea?"

"Is the Pope a Catholic?"

"Ha, ha, this is the wrong household to say that in!" He pushed himself upright, stretched some more before leaning over, cupping my head with a hand and kissing me on the lips, his breath warm and slightly smelly; but the sheer spontaneity of it was glorious. "Merry Christmas darling."

I managed another forty minutes in bed and then buoyed up by two cups of tea, Ric and I crept downstairs with Lara in our arms and sat on the sofa in the living room, cuddled up together and looking at the gaudily decorated Christmas tree. "It's seriously ugly isn't it?" he remarked with a yawn as we huddled together on the sofa, Lara busily playing with some wrapping paper at our feet.

I made a noise that could be interpreted either way; the tree would not win any design awards, but it had a reality to it, a story that was more valuable then a set of matching decorations.

"I like the angel," I commented with a slight laugh, looking at the bedraggled ornament. It was made out of doily and a loo roll, woollen hair half falling off the back, it's 'dress' decorated with a toddlers ungainly pen.

"I made that," Ric replied on a yawn, gathering me into his arms and resting his head against mine. "And hopefully one day Lara will make one to replace it." I snuggled down into his arms; listening to his heartbeat against mine, my eyes taking in the room, dimly lit with a side lamp and the coloured Christmas tree lights. There was a pile of presents under the tree, three bumpy stockings balanced against the hearth. It was a homely scene and one that had been missing from my life for so long. All of a sudden, I felt a rush of love – not only for the man by my side; but his grandparents his family – soon to be my family. For the first time in many years I felt like I belonged somewhere.

* * *

I had spent Christmas in the Stewart household before and it seemed the routine never altered. Obviously the presence of a small child meant that our days had to be structured around her and Ric and I forced ourselves out to take a late afternoon walk; get some fresh chilling air into our lungs. I was falling in love with Scotland, despite the cold and rain there was a beauty to the landscape; only a couple of miles from the uniformity of Drumchapel, the hillsides rose with a stark beauty and a twenty minute drive had you in the wilds of the countryside.

I mentioned as much to Ric as we took Lara for a walk. She was sitting in a child carrier on her father's back meaning that we could go for more of a hike into the hills then a wander around the tarmac roads on the estate; some of which was still exceedingly rough. "Do you really?" His voice was bright; animated as we trudged along the track in our wellingtons, glad for once that it wasn't raining, even though the sky was grey. "Do you think you would like to live here? Scotland generally I mean, not Drumchapel?"

"Live?" I looked at him with a frown. "Do you want to live in Scotland; don't you need to be down in London?" He shrugged.

"Some of the time, but as long as we have a flat down there and somewhere to go for a few nights, no; not really. I find it so claustrophobic, not to mention expensive."

"Expensive hey – thought that wasn't a problem anymore?" I gave him a sideways glance as we trudged along. He still hadn't said anything about money – gave no hint to his personal wealth and I still did not know if he was as rich as the hint I had gained from his conversation with Alanya.

"With property costing as much as it does in London, huh!" He gave a snort. "If we wanted to live in anything more generous than your flat then we would be looking at five, six million – just for a house! Sorry, can't see the point in paying that much – goes against my whole upbringing really."

"But, but" I hesitated slightly, not wanting to seem too grabbing, but it was a question that needed to be asked. "How much can you really afford Ric? I mean dare I ask how much are you worth?" He stopped suddenly, a frown on his face hidden by the baseball cap he had pulled down low over his features. As was often the case when we were in Scotland he didn't wear a mask or a prosthetic and relied on glasses and caps to shadow his features; especially as on the top of a hill in the freezing cold there wasn't anyone else who would see. Lara let out an indignant cry as the wind picked up, blowing through us. I hefted a sigh, seemed like I wouldn't be getting my answer anytime soon. "Let's turn back," I suggested instead.

"Izzy," I felt his hand take mine, his fingers red with cold as he couldn't find any gloves to wear. "Do you think you could live in Scotland?"

"Why?" I answered a touch petulantly; cross that he hadn't answered my question. "Don't you have five or six million to spend on a house? Or is London just so awful that you can't bear to go back down there." He laughed.

"Don't get the hump Iz," he let go of my hand and drew me into his side, Lara's foot kicking me in my shoulder. "I thought you knew how much I was worth? I thought you knew everything there was to know about Cluinn, our biggest fan!" His teasing tone made me relax a little and I shook my head. "Sorry, you never asked and I don't make a habit of going around advertising wealth. You know how I was bought up, calm, sensible, sober – huge houses, fast cars; champagne baths and lots of bling aren't really me."

"That's true – unless you are talking about your guitars – you have a weakness for those haven't you?" He laughed slightly and nodded.

"Yeah, they call to me!" He paused and stopped walking looking at me, Lara foot this time kicking me firmly in the arm. "Izzy, you do realise that what I actually have sitting in the bank, versus what I could lay my hands on; against what I have the potential of earning is vastly different. It's a bit like the dotcom bubble in the early nineties; there is money there but I don't have access to it." He glanced at my face and must have seen the lines of confusion that creased it for he continued. "Okay, actually in the bank – sitting there at the moment in various accounts, I have about three million."

"Oh!" I didn't know what else to say, it was a hell of a lot of money and yet he acted as if it were the tip of the iceberg.

"And then I have invested about the same again, three; maybe four million in various shares and things." He continued simplistically.

"So you have about seven million then," I shrugged. Okay it was a few figures short of what Tatty had said, but it wasn't to be sniffed at – far more then I would earn in a lifetime.

"Yeah, but I continue to earn – every time an album is sold; a song downloaded on iTunes; a t-shirt or poster bought – that all earns me money and that has a value of around three million, but that is based on predicted sales; which obviously is just theory." He shrugged. "I'm not about to make a richest list by any means, but unless I go crazy we shouldn't be on the bread line in the near future...and there is always the law to fall back on." He grabbed my hand again and starting to pull me back towards the car. I let him pull me back, needing to get warm again; even my toe were cold.

"Actually that is one thing I was wondering, Cluinn is successful now – are you really ever going to become a lawyer? All those years of study just thrown away." He gave one of his typical shrugs.

"I need to get admission to practice as a solicitor, which requires a bit more training – I went down to London just as I was about to have it granted and obviously now have fallen behind. I am slightly tempted to see if I can get some more practice in during the next few months..." he trailed off as he noticed my agog look, mouth slackly open with surprise.

"But I thought you needed to write another album, wanted to chill."

"Well yeah, but need something to do..." I laughed.

"I suppose only having one thing on the agenda might be too easy." He joined in.

"Oh Izzy, I love you." He hugged me again. "But you never answered my original question – could you live in Scotland?" I looked around me and thought.

"Yesss," I finally said slowly. "I have always lived down south by default, but I suppose I don't have ties anymore – well my flat obviously, but that's it."

"So you wouldn't feel lost having to let go of old places; past habits. You would be happy living up here; creating a life for us as a family, making new friends?" He queried further; covering all angles with his usually in-depth questioning.

"I don't really have anything keeping me in London – well Tatty, but then she can always come up. I mean I am guessing that if we buy a house up here it can be quite big – not a two bedroom flat?" He flashed me a smile that clearly said 'yes'. "You know Ric, I nearly married a man that I didn't love and could have ended up living in Dubai – Scotland is close in comparison. And as long as I have you most of the time and my few friends to stay some of the time; then that would be fine. And as for a job, well the little bit I do for Tatty can always be through e-mail; Lara is still young and I don't want to feel I have to work; just want to do a bit to keep my brain turning into mush. I would actually love to finish my degree; even by correspondence." I turned and looked at him, suddenly excited by the thought, of having freedom once in my life – being able to put down my own roots; make my own way rather than being tugged back and forth by the wills and fates that had controlled my years recently. "When were you looking at moving?" He threw his head back and laughed at that, his daughter turning her head staring at me as if to question her father's strange behaviour.

"Help Izzy, when you put your mind to something, not much stops you does it!" I simply shrugged in reply.

* * *

It was two days later and our last full day in Scotland. We weren't staying up for Hogmanay this year; choosing instead to spend it quietly together, alone in our flat – enjoying each other's company and some privacy.

I had just put Lara down for her post lunch nap and tiptoed out the room; pulling the door to slightly and went downstairs; where Ric was standing at the bottom. "There you are, has she gone down?"

"Yes, all this crawling is wearing her out."

"Perpetual locomotion!" Lara's Christmas present to us had been to perfect the art of crawling on Christmas Day, obviously the lure of the brightly decorated tree too much to resist. The joy of watching her crawl and move around the living room soon began to wane, for as soon as she was let free she moved off; determined to get her hands on the presents; the wrapping paper and the baubles. Thankfully the extra exercise also meant that she fell asleep straight after lunch, exhausted with her physical exertion. "Let's escape for a couple of hours – Gram can keep an ear out and get her up."

"Are you sure?" He nodded and I didn't need much persuading. Whilst being in the small house was welcoming; it was also stifling and I desperately wanted some privacy with my fiancée; we hadn't had any since the night of the concert and there was so much we needed to discuss.

He drove the car out of Glasgow, heading north-west, the landscape getting wilder and more rugged as we left the confines of the city behind. "Where are we going?" I finally asked after we had been travelling for about twenty minutes, my prattling conversation filling time. It was opposite to Edinburgh, so an unscheduled visit to Jim was not on the cards and we had been around to Angus' parents who lived in a comfortable brick Victorian villa near the centre of the city.

"To look at a house," he frowned at the navigation instructions before slowing the car down and turning right between two flint pillars. "Here you go!" The house sat at the end of the driveway – modern in its appearance and yet so clean and sympathetic in design that it did not seem to jar with the landscape that surrounded it. The surroundings bore signs of recently departed builders; tyre marks on the edge of the lawn and a solitary bag of stone chippings abandoned at the edge of the gravel driveway which formed a sweep in front of the house. "What do you think?" He stopped the car and turned off the engine, staring at the building in front of us with a curious glance whilst my head was craned taking in the double garages to one side; the small stone complex next to it and the expanse of glass, flint and stone that seemed to hover at the side of the loch which it was built next to.

"Where are we, what is this?" I asked, charmed at the view but confused. "I said I would like to move to Scotland, but I didn't expect to start house hunting straight away."

"Neither did I; but an old friend of Gramps tipped him off about this place – apparently his son was the architect and built it as a bit of a vanity project, hoping that he could persuade some rich banker to buy it. Share market went belly up, not so many wealthy bankers around and he is stuck with it on his hands – is willing to part with it for a good price. So, here we are – wanna' take a look inside? He's sent me the alarm code!"

I stepped out the car; my eyesight never leaving the lake that seemed to wrap around two sides of the house. "Who is allowed to use this lake though?" I questioned, looking at the vast windows and wondering if you would have a lone canoeist paddling by as you ate breakfast.

"No one – it belongs to the house – comes with six acres."

"Yikes." I glanced around me; realising that the lake wasn't that huge and a lot of the land seemed to be rough meadow – in fact only the house and a small patch to the side had been tamed and take back from the wilds around it. By then Richard had found the key and pushed open the solid oak front door; switched off the alarm and I followed him in, stopping dead in the entrance.

The ceiling was double height; huge windows ran right down the side of the house, light pouring in and offering a view over the water. Our footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as we wandered through the space; our eyes wide, necks craned to take in the upstairs balcony; vast modern kitchen; dining and living space. "There's room for a grand piano here;" Ric said gazing around his voice echoing in the space and a separate downstairs bedroom and a study!" There was a hushed awe in his voice that I could understand; the light and space creating the sort of atmosphere almost reserved for a holy building or library.

"Let's go upstairs!" I dragged him up the staircase, wanting to look over the balcony, except I didn't get that far as I entered the master suite. "Holy shit!" The expletive fell from my lips as I gazed out of the windows that formed two of the walls at the view beyond.

"Come and look at this," my fiancée's voice echoed from the other side of the wall and I walked through the door into a beautiful wet room, flanked by two dressing rooms. I shook my head in amazement, falling in love with the house.

"Could you imagine yourself living here?" he asked, obviously noting my stunned expression. I couldn't find the words and simply nodded in reply. He came and wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me into him, nuzzling my ear and I could feel his body harden against me. "Shall we buy this house? Live here? Fill it with our children?" His voice was rough; desire laced through it as he wove a spell of the future for me.

"How many bedrooms are there?"

"Four upstairs, another one downstairs and a fully functioning Granny annexe. Space for a whole band of our own."

"I think Lara is going to be the lead singer then," I muttered back, coherent thought leaving me as he started to nuzzle the side of my neck; my insides melting with the action and the realisation that for the first time in days we were completely alone.

"Feel like getting to work on the bass guitarist," he nipped my ear; his hand dipping into the top of my jeans. "God Izzy, it feels like forever since I have been inside you! Please let me in."

"But we are in someone's house!"

"That could be ours. Let's christen it." He pushed against me again, kissing my neck, my ear and reaching round running his tongue over my lips. "I haven't had you alone for so long, not since you appeared to me in your sexy clothing and seduced me with your magic.

"You liked it then?"

"Oh yeah – anytime you want to do that again." I laughed hollowly; my resistance nothing more then a puddle as it flowed away.

"Okay then," as always resistance was futile. I arched my back into his and with a swift movement he had pushed my jeans down, bent over me as I leant against the marble basin, pushing into me. It was quick and intense; a total contrast to our coupling over a week ago. It still turned me on immensely, the suddenness of it; the naughty feeling that we were doing it where we shouldn't.

"Any loo paper there?" I questioned, glancing over my shoulder, reality sinking back in as I realised we were semi-naked in a private house that was for sale.

"Baby wipes," he extracted a small packet from his pocket and pushed them into my hand and I cleaned myself up, straightening my clothes and standing upright, catching a glimpse of my flushed but triumphant face in the huge mirror over the double sinks.

"Does that make it official then Mr Stewart, are we buying this place now – signed and sealed?" He looked around him with a sigh, gathering me into his arms.

"Do you want to?"

"Oh yes!" And with that I closed a door on another part of my life and embraced the new once more; only this time with a happy heart.


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter 54

He would never tire of the view, he thought as he woke up, pushed himself to sitting and was greeted by the early morning light reflecting off the loch and into their bedroom. The hills to the east were tinged with gold as the sun rose behind them casting its light over the water so it sparkled and danced. They would have to start closing the curtains soon – in another month's time it would hardly get dark at all and then the tinted glass and blackout curtains would be very necessary if they ever wanted to get to sleep.

Next to him, roused slightly by the movement, Izzy snuggled deeper down into the duvet; his love – his wife. The thought made him pause, as it always did – he couldn't really believe it was true. Sometimes it did all seem like a dream, how his life was unfolding, how perfect it all seemed to be. A lovely house, a gorgeous child, money in the bank and his wife of three weeks lying next to him in bed, her dark hair tumbling around her naked shoulders. They had made love again last night; he couldn't keep his hands off her at the moment – amazed and astounded with the passion that rose between them. It wasn't the sexual tricks that Ellie had once used, in fact in contrast Isabella was an innocent between the sheets, but rather that she came to him willingly and openly – giving herself fully every time and expecting the same in return. Every time they made love it felt as if a little bit of him was recast and reborn.

Their wedding had been a perfect day, small and simple. The only slight change had come when Jim had pragmatically pointed out that getting married in the parish church at Drumchapel was not going to work. Izzy had been firmly insistent that she marry him unmasked. As she had stated more then once she was marrying Ric, not his alter ego, and that was who she expected to see at the top of the aisle when she walked up. The only trouble was that it wouldn't take a very clever fan to make the connection about who he was when the other three band members turned up at the church.

He had been tempted to go with it anyway, ride out the publicity and reveal the secret (which several people were aware of anyway). But he didn't want to ruin Isabella's wedding in anyway, this was to be her day and so he persuaded the priest to journey out to the Granthorn and marry them in the chapel on the estate in a private ceremony, attended only by close friends and family. They had handed Lara over to his Grandparents and dived off on honeymoon for two weeks to Greece; most of which they spent sleeping, swimming and rediscovering each other; both in and out of bed.

But life had to continue and they missed their daughter, so they returned to Scotland and the lives they were carving out in the small village they lived in. Ever since January when they had moved in, they had purposefully tried to involve themselves in the community, Ric; his prosthetic firmly in place introducing himself as working in the music industry whilst retraining as a Solicitor. It was an acceptable fib and people swallowed it easily. As soon as they had relocated to Scotland, Izzy signed up to finish her English degree, claiming it would help her settle and give her something to do. Not that it had been a problem as she was soon accepted into the community making friends with several people living close by. It seemed being parents to a small child was an easy opener into the neighbourhood.

But seeing Izzy return to her studies had set off an ache in him and they had only been back in Scotland a month when he returned to his old company and asked if he could continue with his graduate training, attempting to revive his studies, not wanting to let them go to waste. He was well aware that it was a foolish pipe dream to follow at the moment and there was no point in qualifying as a lawyer whilst Cluinn was riding such a popular crest, but the discipline of having to get up and go to work three days a week kept him motivated – he didn't want to laze around for a whole year and loose the will to do anything at all. Besides, if his time was stretched he found it easier to write music, the tunes coming to him rather then having to search for inspiration and force it out.

The plan had worked well up until their wedding. Three days a week; suited and booted, his hair cut short and looking every inch the professional he drove into Edinburgh and spent the hours working on everything from drafting Wills and collecting Conveyancing to attending clients who were in custody. The work was varied and time consuming and whilst his orderly mind appreciated the structure of the days he found that much of the searing passion that had seen him through his years of study had dwindled. After four months there was a feeling that it was all a real chore.

But he had promised his old professor that he would do six months as a trainee and was unwilling to break it, knowing that strings had been pulled to every have him reemployed. There were hundreds of graduates fresh out of university who would fight to have the place given to him in the firm and they were all desperate to become lawyers, where as he had other obligations to fill first. The other former students who worked alongside him were told the same white lie about his career and accepted it all in good heart – they had no reason that the soberly dressed man who shared in their employment had another career as a multi-million album rock star. One that was due to start again in July when Cluinn headlined at T in the Park.

So on that early May morning, he ran a rough hand down Isabella's arm and throwing the covers back; climbed out of bed. He silently dressed not wanting to wake her, although she stirred as he bent over to kiss her goodbye. "Mmm, what time is it" she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck, cuddling up to his body; the smell of her body warm and wet for him almost his undoing.

"Six-thirty, I'm just about to go. I am going to meet up with Jim after work, so won't be back until later."

"Okay, Lara and I will miss you loads. Have a nice day!" She pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling as he whispered back words of love to her before he straightened and headed off downstairs. He needed the cool air of the chilly morning to settle himself after that goodbye.

He climbed into his car and set off for the hour long drive to Edinburgh, his mind distracted; cross that he had to leave Izzy and go to work. He shook his head at the irony, shit – he had voluntarily signed himself up for this traineeship, now he was the one chaffing at the restraint it put on his life. It wasn't as if he needed the money; even with the purchase of the house, two cars and filling it with furniture he still had a million in the bank – more in savings and as he had told Izzy, he continued to get an income with royalties from the music already on sale – a very generous amount of money. He also missed his friends and bandmates; missed being able to jam with them; bounce off ideas about music. He was still composing; music just flowed out of him without even trying, but he was plagued with doubts about its sound and subject – was it right for Cluinn? Would it have the same success of his other pieces? Damn it, he even missed having long hair that he could bash as he played.

Even when he focused down; tried to dredge up the old hate that had kept him on his route of study until now – torturing himself with the image of his mother in pain; he found he couldn't find the same burning passion. Instead the woman in his vision turned into Izzy, the small child huddled by her side not his brother Cameron, but his daughter Lara. He knew that he was losing the searing anger – maybe what his Grandparents had soberly predicted when he first set out to change his career was coming true. 'Be careful, time moves on, the pain fades – don't change your life because of regret.' Maybe it was true; maybe he wasn't cut out to be a lawyer after all.

The distraction followed him through the day and even as he sat proofing a stack of Wills that were due to go out for signing; his pen gripped in his right hand; his left refused to cooperate, instead tapping out chords on the desk next to him. A tune was floating up through his brain; the chords playing out in his head; his lips silently moving as the words presented themselves. Good thing he was seeing Jim later; he could go over it with him; see what his friend thought.

The only trouble was that his behaviour was eliciting stares from his colleagues. He supposed that from a distance it wasn't possible to tell that he was tapping out notes, instead as if he were having some form of jerks. He sighed and forced his hand to be still – only another month to go. His phone rang, breaking the quite hum of the chambers; the ringtone playing 'Light of Day' – obviously Izzy had been programming his mobile again! "Hey Sweetheart."

"D'you like the ringtone."

"Bit jaded don't you think – when did you change it?"

"When you were in the shower! And it's not jaded, it's lovely – and you know whose calling when it plays." He chuckled in reply. "But I also called to say that I've just spoken to Laney – she's at her parents."

"Oh okay," it wasn't unusual for Alanya and Jim to be apart; their separate careers taking them to varying places all over the country and the world.

"She's worried about Jim, that's why she phoned – wanted you to go and see him. I said you were."

"Why's she worried? Did she say?" He frowned, casting a mind over the last time he had seen his friend and the lead guitarist of the band. Their wedding day, when Jim had been quiet and slightly withdrawn, not his usual ebullient self. At the time Ric had just put it down to the fact that he and Laney were trying for a baby – without success it seemed.

"She just said he was a bit down and would appreciate some company; that's all. But you are going over this evening aren't you?"

"Yeah, pull him out for a pint; have a chat. He's probably just moping a bit as we aren't playing that's all. There is T in the Park at the start of July; he will perk up by then."

"Okay, well see you later – you gonna' be back for supper?"

"Hope to be – I'll call you when I'm on my way darling, okay?" He finished the conversation, feeling the warmth of the exchange flood over him – any worries about his friend temporarily cast from his mind. Wherever it was, his thoughts were far away from the papers that lay spread out in front of him on the desk. It made the afternoon drag by; the work seeming to never cease as more piles of paper landed on his desk. By five he was more then ready to call it a day and escape; even though most of his colleague would be tied to their desks until late into the evening. It wasn't a sociable career.

Instead he walked the short distance to the flat, where Alanya and Jim were currently residing. Although it belonged to Jim's father, bought as an investment when his youngest son went to university, it tended to sit empty – available for any of the family to use as they wished. He and Jim had lived there as students; much more luxurious then most of their friends digs and very close to the centre of the city and the university. He rang the bell with an impatient finger, taking a step back; staring up at the first floor, trying to see if anyone was in the building. As far as he could tell the curtains were still drawn; whoever was in residence either trying to sleep or too lazy to bother opening them – totally Jim. He rang the bell several times more, waiting for someone to buzz the door open, let him in. His friend knew he was coming – had replied to his text. A degree of panic built in him as he wondered what Jim was doing.

But he hadn't lived here as a student without knowing how to get into the building without a key! Admittedly; he thought to himself as went around the back; climbing over the gate and grabbing onto the fire escape; whenever he had been forced to do so before, it had usually been late at night – the residents probably weren't use to seeing a man in a pinstriped suit climb up the fire ladder that clung precariously to the granite stone at the back and onto the small balcony outside the living room. But from there it was easy enough to shimmy open the sash window and climb inside. "Jim," he hollered one leg inside the room as he scrambled over the windowsill. "Jim McCullough, are you in here you arsehole!" A loud groan alerted him to the fact that there was someone in residence and he swiftly moved to the bedroom at the front and flung open the door.

His friend was lying in bed; the duvet a rumpled mess only half on the mattress; the curtains drawn so that only a dim light penetrated. It highlighted dirty plates and mugs, stubbed out cigarette butts and overflowing ashtrays, lying amongst dirty washing. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, stepping over the abandoned remnants of a pizza and flinging open the curtains. His friend moved in bed, groaning and grabbing his head. "You hungover?"

"What the fuck is it to you?" The figure rolled over, squinting in the beam of bright afternoon sunshine that decided to shine through the curtains, lighting up his greasy locks and heavy stubble.

"Thought we were going out for a drink that's all?" Ric stood by the window; on the largest patch of carpet available and crossed his arms over his chest. Secretly he was shocked by the state of the room; the figure in the bed. His best friend looked awful; hungover and ill – obviously surviving on a diet of junk food, tobacco and alcohol. "How long has Laney been gone?"

"A week, I think. What day is it?"

"Wednesday and the start of my weekend, so was looking forward to having a drink and a chat. Needed to go over some music with you as well – wondering if I could force you over to your parents for a Jam at the weekend?" Jim pulled a face and shifted under the sheets; the duvet cover sliding further off the bed.

"Don't think I can be bothered. Pass us that glass would you?" He held out his hand for the half full glass of liquid that sat on the drawers just out of reach. Ric hooked it up and bought it to his nose, almost reeling back as the smell of vodka hit his nostrils, not water as he had first thought.

"You're washed up aren't you Jimmy?" He picked his way across the carpet and came and sat on the bed, forcing the occupant in it to draw his legs up. "Why the fuck didn't you talk to me? What's been going on?" He try to keep his tone of voice gentle, it scared him to see his close friend in such a state; knowing that he had once been in the same position. This was no time for lectures.

"Fuck you Richard Stewart; fuck you to hell and back again." The words came as a vitriolic explosion that rent the silence in the room, spat with drug fuelled venom.

"Why?" It was hard not to react to that, but he balled his fists up and sat on them, determined not to let his temper rule the day. This was not James McCullough talking; he didn't mean it.

"Because somehow life sorts itself out for you always. You wanna' know the truth? Part of me was glad you were so miserable last year, because for once I was more satisfied then you; my life was better – easier and I could be grateful for it all. But once again you've managed to get it all haven't you? Cushy little wife; lovely house; beautiful daughter. The only way I am going to get a kid is to wank into a paper cup and have it stuck into my wife's eggs in a Petri dish. How's that for failure?"

"Are you trying IVF?" Richard glanced around the room a grim smile on his face – possibly understandable why Jim was feeling so down; it wasn't an easy course for anyone to go one.

"Laney can't fall pregnant, they say 'cause she was anorexic when she was a teenager it's crapped up her fertility." He swallowed heavily, shifting around in the bed; his eyes searching for the glass that Ric still gripped in one hand. "Crapped up our lives even more. Do you have any idea how hard it is for her to see you and Izzy and Lara? She came home and cried in my arms every time and I am trying to be fucking strong for her and it ain't fucking working. So damn you Ric for getting your perfect life so easily, for not being dragged through this hellhole!"

"Where is Alanya now?" He spoke quietly.

"Gone back down to her parents, needs some rest time she claims. I don't even know what to say to her anymore; don't know how to give her comfort!" His stuttered words broke into noisy drunken sobs and Ric shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He knew that his friends were trying for a baby, but had not realised that their failure was down to anything more then the usual reasons. "She miscarried the day before your wedding you know? Was eight weeks pregnant and then bye bye, down the loo – all gone. Still stood up and came to the wedding though." The words caused Richard to look at his friend with wide eyed shock, suddenly understanding the reason for the subdued behaviour of Jim and Alanya on that happy day. He had been concentrating solely on Izzy, hadn't put it down to anything more serious then a tinge of memories.

He stood up suddenly, desperate to get out of the room; away from the smell of unwashed body and dirty sheet, soiled food; seeking refuge in the hall outside. His friend was slipping away down the path of self-pity; his journey lubricated by the alcohol and drugs he had always indulged in. The symptoms had always been there, Jim was never a settled person and as his mate; as someone who had been in exactly the same downward spiral – who knew the signs, he should have intervened sooner. Instead he had left it to fate; hoping that it would all work out in the end – seemed that it wasn't going to.

He pulled his mobile out of his pocket dialled his home; Izzy answering on the second ring. "Hello darling. You on your way home already?"

"Um, no. Listen I'm at Jim's flat and; well he isn't doing so great; missing Laney. Thought I might bring him back to stay for the weekend, we could chill out; jam a bit." He paused, hating the fact that he wasn't being fully truthful with his wife. But he could hardly say that he was bringing back his friend to dry out; she wouldn't be pleased with that – especially with Lara in the house.

There was a moment of silence before a sigh came down the line. "Okay, I have a spare bed made up. Come on over now and I will put the chicken in the oven."

"You are an angel; see you in about an hour and a bit. Love you." She said the words back to him, although there was a degree of the automatic. He supposed it was to be expected, she cherished their time together alone – bringing Jim back with him would change the plans they had for the weekend; especially if she thought they were going to shut themselves up in the garage and play music.

It took all his powers of persuasion, more than a few threats and a lot of swearing to pull Jim out of his bed and push him into the shower. He picked up the worst of the glasses and plates, stuck them in the dishwasher; tried to clean up a bit, amazed at how domesticated he had become – Isabella's influence obviously.

And then with a calmer showered and shaved Jim McCullough by his side he pointed the car out of the city and drove home; his eyes fixed on the road and not at the man next to him who sat slumped in the seat; his hand relentlessly flicking imaginary ash off his trousers. He was going to attempt to make Jim go cold turkey, see if it was enough to knock him back to his senses as had worked with him.

* * *

It turned into a hell of a weekend. He had hoped that by being there for Jim; listening to his vague rambling monologues, encouraging him to play their guitars then he could drag him from the hole he had fallen into. He hadn't counted on Lara's cheery presence depressing his friend even more; on Jim raiding their kitchen cupboards and drinking the bottles of whisky and vodka they had stashed in there; or of him sitting on the deck outside the house; rolling his spliffs in view of the whole family. By Sunday he was at his wits end.

"I am taking Lara to your Grandparent's for the day," Izzy announced as she looked around the scene of destruction in the kitchen. It was as if an army of gannets had moved in – the milk spilt over the counter and then left to sour, coffee granules poured into the mix. A half hearted attempt at making toast had been left sitting in the toaster in all its burnt glory. Jam pots decorated the worktop, smears of butter mixed in with their contents and an empty bottle of cooking brandy sat decadently in the middle of the mess. Ric felt his heart sink at the sight. Jim had done worse over the weekend, but this were the straw that broke Izzy's back. Her face was rigid with anger as she looked at the chaos in her kitchen. "I want him gone by the time we get back – understood?"

"Isabella," Ric started but she stopped him with a hand.

"No Ric, I have run out of patience. Four days he's been like this; four days without even so much as a thank you for your care, my help. I don't care if he is King of Scotland, I cannot have him in my house any longer. Twenty minutes later she left, Lara in tow – her words still echoing around the house.

And so with a heavy heart he made a call to the famous rehabilitation centre outside of Edinburgh. He was hardly surprised when he found that Alanya had already made enquiries and had a place on reserve. It would seem that he was not the only one worried about his friend's behaviour. It was easy to take the room up – he could take Jim over that afternoon. After a brief conversation he walked upstairs and into the spare room, which looked as if Jim had been in there for weeks or months, not only four nights – the mess similar to his bedroom in the flat.

"Hey Jim," his voice was sober and heavy as he trod his way across the floor; kicking abandoned clothes out the way and drew open the curtains. "How's it going mate?"

"How the fuck do you think it's going?" Was the reply from the bed. Ric found himself mentally sighing – time for more ramblings of self-pity. "Shit as always Ric; no work; no life – nothing to do."

"We have T in the Park in six weeks; then need to look at writing some new material." His response was almost automatic. They had this conversation every day that Jim had been there, more then once a day. "Look, Jim, maybe you need to take a break from it all – get some ..."he swallowed hard. "Get some help?"

"Help?" His friend sat up in bed, once again unshaven and unkempt. "Like counselling help; rehab help, is that what you are saying? God you sound just like my wife? Why the fuck do you think she walked out on me?" He fell backwards against the pillows again.

"Walked out? You told me Laney had gone to see her parents?" Ric was shocked, it seemed that the situation was more serious and more ongoing then he had at first thought. This was not just a blip caused by the stress of trying to conceive; this was the underlying problem of Jim's addictive personality coming to the fore. The stress of touring; the eagle eye of Gus and Richard's own behaviour had obviously kept him in a degree of check, but for the past five months, when free time loomed relentlessly he had obviously given into their welcoming embrace.

"Yeah well she has gone to stay; just don't know when she's coming back that's all."

"Probably when you sort yourself out."

"Maybe; maybe not." He swallowed heavily and sighed, pulling the covers back over his head as if the conversation was at an end. In the past Richard had walked out, leaving him to wallow in self-pity. This time he had an agenda to fulfil.

"Look mate, you can't stay here – Izzy is well pissed off with you and don't ever cross her; it isn't a pleasant experience; trust me. She's thrown a mug at my head before." Grating laughter came from the bed; although it sounded more like nails being dragged across sandpaper, so hoarse was the voice. It was hard to believe that it could have the same tone and tenor as his. "I also need you to get better – Cluinn can't cope without you – it will all go crashing into the ground. We have a third album to write and record, need your help on it!"

"No you don't, you can manage perfectly well without me and you know it Ric, Tom, Phantom; Izzy's little lapdog – whoever the hell you are these days. You can always play lead guitar; don't need me on stage."

"Yes I do; Cluinn has always been the four of us and it wouldn't work any other way." Ric could feel the anger starting to rise. Jim had a way of finding the weakest point and hitting where it hurt; the lapdog slur was the latest in a long line. "You have a place waiting; at Castle Cleary. They are expecting you this afternoon." The news that he had hoped to impart gently came out as a rush; annoyance removing the desire to be gentle.

"Oh, so you have it all sorted don't you. Send the poor little rich boy off to get better and go on with your happy life. Can the prisoner just have one final request as you send him off?" Ric sighed out loud this time, gesturing for him to continue. "You take me in as Phantom; then at least I can go in as the elegantly wasted rock star rather than the down and out friend? Would you do that for me?" Richard paused a moment and then nodded; if he couldn't help in any other way it was the least he could do.

It was late by the time he got back; committing James to the centre took longer then he had anticipated, especially as he had to persuade his friend to voluntarily entrust himself to the care of the staff. He walked in on Izzy standing in the kitchen, beating a cake mix; tight lipped and white faced. He threw the car keys down on the counter earning a tut from his wife. "Hang them up, or they'll get covered in batter." He obliged. "Where's Jim?" Her tone of voice was cool; bordering on disinterest.

"He's um; gone." He shrugged trying to ease the guilt which formed a tight noose around his throat. "I took him over to Castle Craig this afternoon." Her forehead was in a frown and he explained. "A rehabilitation centre; it's meant to be one of the best."

"Is that why you're dressed as you are?" She nodded towards his outfit and he glanced down at what he was wearing. Tight jeans; a rip in the knee, biker boots over the top and a torn ripped t-shirt cast him as a rock star. His black mask that bisected his face cast him as the Phantom; gel pushed through his short locks so they stood on end. He hadn't dressed like this for the past five months – wasn't surprised that Izzy looked shocked to see him wearing the costume.

"Jim wanted people to see that he was a rock star; not just another addict. Always the performer – wanted the glory and so he asked me to dress as Phantom; it was the least I could do to agree, the only thing I've been able to do really." His voice cracked slightly as he spoke and his wife; ever attuned to his emotions looked up. "Not that it made any difference, there wasn't anyone to witness his incarceration except the staff and they seemed gloriously unconcerned. I am sure they've seen it all before." He shrugged again; the noose tightening. Guilt was a familiar emotion; but it was different when it was due to his own friend.

Isabella moved around the counter; looking up at him with concern. "Ric," she said softly as he puffed air through his cheeks. He turned and looked at his daughter who was crawling around near his feet. She seemed to ignore him, probably confused by the way he was dressed for instead of moving towards him as she always did when he walked through the door; instead she had simply shot him a confused glance. "Don't take it to heart," Izzy took his hands in hers, the action forcing him to refocus on her.

"I should have looked after him more; I've always known he's had a habit, just didn't want to admit that it had got so bad."

"Maybe; but you weren't his keeper, I doubt he would have let you 'look after him' as you say. Ric, it's not your fault."

"He also told me that I was lucky, that life always sorted itself out for me. Swore at me, said I was effing lucky!" His voice rose a pitch; this was what caused him the agitation; the remorse. Was he really lucky? Was he so emasculated that he had become Isabella's lapdog, answering to her every command?

"Richard!" Her voice was firm, but soft as he looked at her through clouded eyes; suddenly doubting everything; himself, his ability as a friend and partner; even his ability in his chosen career. Was it all just a house of cards that could come tumbling down at any second? "Ric, he was hoping to wrong foot you. Jim doesn't play fair you know that!" Her voice pleaded with him to be rational, to think things through. "Darling," she must have seen the cloud in his eyes because she reached up and with a gentle press parted the mask from his face; placed it on the counter next to them. "Maybe you are lucky? But you deserve to be, because you have put in enough hours of sheer bloody hard work to sit back and reap some of the rewards now. You have paid for everything in blood, sweat and tears – that is something Jim has never had to do. But it is easier to bring others down to you level then rise to theirs – you of all people should know that!"

He pulled a face and nodded; Lara looking up in surprise at the impassioned words her parents were exchanging. She must have seen her father standing there, recognizing her features because she toddled over with a smile on her face and a plastic brick in her hand; clinging to his leg and offering him a present. He scooped it up, hugging her tight, burying his face in her stomach and making her squeal with laughter. He clung to the joy that suddenly shot through him.

"What are you making?" he asked after a moment's hesitation, Lara wriggling in his arms to get down.

"A cake. Gus called and is back up in Scotland; said he would drop by and as Jim has consumed anything and everything that might be classified as a treat I am reduced to baking if I want to offer him anything for tea." A slight smile tugged at his lips at the usual back handed complaint was dealt out.

"I'm gonna' go to the garage; have a bit of a jam," he said after a moment's pause; Jim's stinging words echoing through his mind. Was he a lapdog by checking with Izzy? "Okay?"

"Sure; I'll call you when Gus get's here." She rose on her toes briefly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And if you don't come out I will send Lara in to unplug everything!" Her tone of voice was lighter; happier since Jim's removal. He had to admit it had been hard – would probably have kicked him out after only a day if the weight of friendship hadn't bored down on him and made him try again and again. Drug addiction was such a fucking nightmare! He had empathy for what he must have put his Grandparents through. When viewed through rational adult eyes he could understand the complexity of emotions that the family of the affected went through – he'd never really appreciated it before.

Grabbing his Gibson from his study downstairs he made his way outside and across to the garage, where they had converted one room to a soundproof studio. Not kitted out to the same level as the stables at Granthorn, it was still a place he could go and practice and compose without subjecting the other members of the house; or the area; to his efforts.

He plugged his guitar in, put the strap over his head and tuned the strings intending to play the tune that had been running through his head the other day at work. But he couldn't do it; the sound wasn't right and didn't come out. Instead a tangled mess of notes flew from his fingers and he found himself humming along words as he played. In his mind he could hear the drum beat behind, cue in the bass, here where the guitar solo would rise up; his fingers moving up the frets the notes rising an octave before he stuck some whammy on and distorted the sound.

Time had no meaning as he composed and two hours later he was hot and sweaty, but there was a tune merging from the chaos of his playing. It was a heavy pounding riff, the drumbeats furious; the bass insistent – the words a furious spill of emotion. He was singing about Jim; the way he behaved, the way he treated his friends and maybe he was singing about himself as well and his experiences over the past few years. He stopped playing and ran a hand through his hair; slightly surprised when it didn't get tangled up in the length. Of course, it was five months since he had last performed a concert – he was now a sober married man.

"Hey Ric," the Glaswegian voice Angus echoed through the garage and he came and stood in the doorway; his glance taking in his friend. "What you been killing in here?" Ric glanced around him, took in the shower of paper that had fallen over the floor; marked with his footprints – a scribbled score resting on top of a flight case.

"Huh!" Coming round after writing a song was like waking up at times and he blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Not killing; well only with music – writing – a song." He felt dim witted trying to gather his thoughts together.

"You gonna' play it for me then? Or is it not a Cluinn song?"

"Yeah, it could be I guess – just. Oh look, let's go back to the house and I will play it on the piano. You been over there?" Angus nodded. "Izzy still pissed off?"

"Didn't seem so to me and she has cooked one hell of a chocolate cake which your daughter is eyeing up. C'mon on." Ric took his guitar off, shook his aching muscles and went over to his friend giving him a manly back slapping hug – it was good to see Gus again; to listen to his sober and thoughtful words.

Two cups of tea and a very large slice of chocolate cake later he sat at the baby grand and starting playing; the music toned down with the melodic tone of the instrument, but with the frantic unsettled rhythm running through it. Angus leant on the lid; his eyes never leaving Ric as he played, Izzy listening intently on the sofa as she entertained their daughter who was doing her best to distract all the adults in the room. He started to sing; his voice rough; slightly out of practice; especially with the shouting he had been doing in the garage earlier. Both of the other adults looked up, their eyes trained on him, barely moving until he finished; resting his head in his hands; his elbows coming down on the keys in a discordant noise.

"Good to know you still got it Ric," Gus said at last to break the silence; pushing himself to standing. Izzy walked over wrapped her arms around his shoulders; leant her head against his and he rested his against it, breathing deeply; soaking up her presence – hoping that this song explained how he felt, what was running through his head.

"I'll keep fighting with you," she whispered in his ear, kissing his scarred cheek. "Remember that."

* * *

The crowds cheered and screamed; hands waving in the air as they danced and sang. As always there were the show-offs, sitting on each other's shoulders; dancing around – waving huge flags, dots in the sea of people in front of the stage. The emotion was electric; the energy tangible in the air and he fed off it; recharging his careworn emotions as he belted out the lyrics; his cheeks sore with the grin that had practically been fixed to his face from the minute Sandy bashed his drumsticks together.

After the exhaustion of the world tour he had forgotten how much he enjoyed performing; playing his music and seeing the crowd react. Being the Phantom, taking on the mantle of the lead singer of this rock band that was quickly becoming famous; allowed him to get rid of excess energy, ego and frustration. He could then return to Izzy's side calm and sated – not needing to go out and find other interests or ways to express his emotions – it was all played out in the music.

He shot a grin over to the side of the stage in between songs; saw his wife standing in the spectator area; leaning over the railings. She caught his glance and blew him a kiss; causing the grin to widen; his tongue to moisten his lips. The cameras decided to pan in on him at that exact moment and the intensity and longing on the visible side of his face was relayed out across the vast audience who screamed and cheered; some of the more overworked females at the front fainting.

He ran a hand through his hair, it was much cooler having it shorter, although he had been growing it over the past few weeks and it now curled around his neck again. He had been tempted to dye it, not wanting there to be any association between his on-stage character and the reality of his life; except Izzy had refused to help him and he hadn't been brave enough to attempt it alone. Instead he had a new mask created – another one that bisected vertically; black that faded through into grey – it made it look as if a shadow was shifting across his face and he liked the effect.

He shot a glance at Jim as they launched into their next song. His lead guitarist had been released from rehab for the day, after six weeks of incarceration but his counsellor was waiting next to the stage and he was going straight back there after; at his own request. His performance was keener then it had been for many months and it was only with hindsight that Ric realised how drugged up he must have been at times. Now he was tight on the notes; hitting them with razor sharp accuracy, his voice battling with Phantom's; harmonizing and holding. It was as if his friend had returned from a long journey; this was what it had always been like with Jim; each instinctively reacting off the other.

But in person he was quieter, much more subdued and thoughtful, the cocksure swagger less evident as he soul searched and repented his past misdemeanours. He had accepted the new song with a quiet nod and a slight smile; listening through a couple of times before gently requesting that they did not include it in the set as he hadn't got the hang of the notes yet. There was no shouting; minimal swearing and an acceptance of change that had never been part of his character before. Possibly; Ric thought as they automatically launched into 'Hearts on Fire' this was down to his relationship with Laney much more then his drugged up behaviour. Jim's wife was noticeable by her absence. She had only been back to Scotland twice in the six weeks that her husband was in rehab, both times spending it all with him and not contacting her friends. It was hard to know what to say.

He was exhausted at the end of the set; his body had forgotten the stresses of running around a stage for over an hour. Would have to get back into serious training before they attempted the next world tour; an inevitably if they were going to release a third album. He smashed his guitar down with the final chord; thanked the crowd and strode off stage; accepting the towel that was handed to him and wiping his face.

"Jim," he turned to his friend with a grin.

"Yeah!"

"Thanks mate, that was..." he paused – how could he describe what he was feeling. Instead he grasped him in a manly hug. "It's good to have you back – hang in there."

"Yeah, yeah; I'll try. Look, gotta' go back – come and see me some time soon; I'm allowed to go out and visit people for the afternoon now! Bit like being at boarding school hey!" He slapped him on the back and then nodded to the man who was hovering close by in a subtle fashion. "Let's go Nick, before I get waylaid at the bar!" And Ric watched as his friend happily walked off without even a backward glance at the band he left behind.

Izzy slipped past him; ran her hand across his torso lightly; tickling him before she shot him a glance and walked off in the direction of their trailer. It was a subtle move and he found his body reacting to the light touch; the adrenalin causing him to react as if it had been an electric shock. He thrust his guitar at a stage tech and strode off, with only minimal goodbyes to Sandy and Gus; nothing more on his mind then finding his wife.

Forty minutes later they were sprawled out across the cushions of the Winnebago they were staying in for the weekend; determined to have a modicum of privacy. As camping went it was fairly luxurious, but Ric still longed to be back in his own house; in his own bed. Izzy moved languidly; resting her head on his chest making small noises of contentment as she snuggled into him. Their tops and trousers lay in a tangled heap at the food of the bed, both of them too worked up to do much more then rip each others clothes off and fall onto the bed tangled together.

"D'you think that went okay?" he asked, lifting the hand she rested on his body, idly looking at the rings on her fourth hand.

"What? The concert or the lovemaking?" She giggled and moved slightly so she could look at him. "Both were fantastic as always! Don't know what it is Ric, but you are always such a beast after coming off stage!" She bared her teeth at him in a pretend growl. "And of course you know I can't resist you in leather trousers!" That made him laugh and he lifted his head, kissed her deeply before flopping back down; exhausted. "You beat?"

"Yeah, have totally lost all my fitness. I think we might have to look at changing that last storeroom into a bit of a gym you know. It's all very well saying I will go running, but it's not that appealing when the rain and snow are lashing down. Now are we going to stay here until tomorrow, see some of the bands – or shall we go back home and have a whole day to ourselves; alone? Gram and Gramps aren't dropping Lara off until the evening."

"Oh," her face fell as she tried to make the decision before she sighed. "Can we go home? It was lovely to be here today; really enjoyed it, but just want to get back; back to normality again." He laughed slightly at her turn of phrase.

"Normality? Does that feature very highly in our lives?"

* * *

He was right of course, normality in their case lasted about a week this time before their unusual lifestyle was called into question. Of course it was due to Cluinn and Phantom, the fact that for over two years now he had lead a double life, being one person and yet pretending he was someone else when he performed – they were due to clash sooner or later.

It was a slightly grey afternoon when he returned from visiting Jim, only to find Izzy sitting at the kitchen counter; frowning at her computer, a notepad by her side. Lara was playing around her feet and it drew his attention because she rarely tried to work when their daughter was up and about, instead studying when she was asleep. "What you doing? Essay for your course?" He dropped a kiss on her forehead, glancing over her shoulder at what she was reading; frowning when he saw that it was a picture of him, dressed as Phantom singing. Whilst Izzy did help Tatiana with PR, he was unaware of any interviews that were due to go out. "What's that in?"

"Hmm, oh – 'Heat' I think, that joyful magazine." He groaned at the name of the circulatory gossip rag – it was always trying to catch anyone vaguely famous doing something wrong; determined to hang their faults out to air for the general public to view. Usually he gave it a wide berth; occasionally they caught up with him or some of the other band members.

"Do I want to know what they are saying?"

"Hmm," she was reading the article again, or at least scrolling through the scanned page, frowning at the pictures and text – he couldn't see clearly over her shoulder. "You are married." The comment made him blink, taken aback.

"Well yes, to you – for the past four months. And...?"

"Sorry, put that the wrong way. Phantom is married. He wore a wedding ring on stage at T in the Park." She scrolled down the screen so that the whole picture of him playing the guitar came into view, the solid platinum wedding ring on his finger in full view."

"And what's that got to do with anything?" He glanced down at the ring on his left hand, the fingers on his right automatically going to play with it.

"And the speculation is who you might have married and how you managed to achieve it in such total secrecy."

"Because my wife didn't want a three-ringed circus for a wedding perhaps?" He glanced at the picture again – it wasn't the most flattering; his eyes were closed and he was bellowing into the microphone at the same time, his tonsils on view. "So who is on the speculative list then?" He leant over and shrunk the page to fit the screen, looking at the three small women who were pictured in a heart adjacent to the picture.

"Bea Walters, as she sung with you at Glastonbury; therefore you must have a thing going. Ellie van Holden as you were openly dating a year ago and..." She paused inhaling deeply; either riled or amused he couldn't quite tell. "Tatiana; as you have been seen together after shows more then once and you had your arm around her in this picture! Coupled with the fact that you took your PR away from a reputable national company and gave it to her." He burst out laughing at the third option, amazed that someone had managed to change a friendly hug backstage after the concert in Cardiff into a full blown love affair and marriage; a business decision into an irrational option. Part of him was grateful that Izzy was not even mentioned; thankfully she had managed to stay below the radar, despite her onstage performance in Glasgow.

"Are you happy or sad about that?" he questioned, giving her a hug from behind; feeling her tense shoulders relax into his arms.

"Um, don't know really. Happy I guess that they haven't mentioned me; at least I obviously don't have paparazzi following me around, trying to take photos. But at the same time it does grate when you see pictures of your husband matched with other women, it's not fun being the invisible wife; part of me would like my presence acknowledged. After all I keep the unglamorous part running; I wash your pants, I do the cooking." She sighed. "But then you you as Richard Stewart are just another ordinary bloke and that is who I am married to – that is who I want to be married to. No point wanting that to be the case and then getting upset when I don't get the attention."

"Exactly!" He tightened the embrace, causing her to turn slightly, see for the first time that he was actually wearing a mask, dressed as the rock star.

"Except it is Phantom who is currently hugging me. Oh god, I will go crazy if I try and think about this." She slid off the bar stool and out of his embrace; leaving him aching to hold her again.

"Iz," he said as she walked around the other side of the counter, opening cupboards, extracting food from the fridge. "Come here, let me hold you." She huffed slightly.

"Sorry, I'm busy gotta' cook supper for my husband and child, then I have a pile of washing to do. Why don't you go and get in your box and send my husband back to me?" The words were delivered with a smile, but he could hear the undertone of stress in her voice. He shook his head and went off to shower and change.

Would Isabella ever me truly settled with his stage persona? She no longer shrank away from him; didn't avoid him dressed as Phantom, but there was still a reservation in her behaviour when he appeared as the lead singer of Cluinn. Was she really happier with him as Richard the lawyer? He gave a sigh and kicked his boots off, wanting to have a shower.

As she stood under the water, letting it sluice over his body he mused about the situation they were in. So far their marriage and lifestyle had worked, he had been around a lot; able to participate in their marriage and the raising of Lara. But he had commitments to fulfil, the third album was beckoning, questions about it recording and release already being asked – tentative release dates pencilled in and on the back of that a tour being planned. Couldn't release music without promoting it and that meant another tour – a world tour.

He knew Isabella and Lara would not come with him. He and Izzy had idly talked about it and she always expressed concern about exposing their daughter to the less then desirable world of the mobile rock group. The things she treasured in their daughter's upbringing; calmness, continuity and normality would not be present – instead it would be a style of camping with many hours spent on the road; a lot around people who did not appreciate the presence of a small child in their midst. Even he knew that his behaviour was moderated around his family; the swearing, drinking, sexual world of backstage was not a healthy environment and in truth he didn't want his daughter knowing anything about it until she had to; if she ever did.

Which meant that in a few months time, possibly the end of this year or early next he would have to leave, shift his living back to a tour bus and hotels, once again take on the mantle of Phantom, a character who had no life outside that of the band; no hobbies, interests or even thoughts apart from rock music. It was one of the disadvantages of his alter ego – he existed purely as a two dimensional figure, nothing to flesh him out as a person – something that frustrated the more persistent fans – no birthday; no place where he was raised; nothing they could connect with apart from the music.

He wanted to leave Izzy with something that she could connect herself to Phantom with, so he could lay claim to her in all his guises. It could be as easy as being photographed with her, but the disadvantages of such an action; especially to her would be acute. And then as the water slid over his face and down his body he had a flash of inspiration. Turning the shower off he towelled down; moved through the bedroom and called over the balcony for her to come and join him.

"What?" She bought Lara up with him; putting her on their bed and sitting down so the child could crawl over the duvet and pillows. He automatically sat down the other side, effectively creating a barrier so she couldn't fall off. Izzy glanced over at him as he sat there, the towel slipping off from where he had wrapped it around his waist. "You gonna' put some clothes on?" He flashed her a smile and grabbed a pair of boxers from his drawer, sticking them on his body before sitting down again.

"I've had an idea! What would you say to recording some music with me?" He was excited, blurted the words out; forgot to sell the idea to her and she frowned.

"Ric, I've told you, I can't sing with Cluinn anymore – I know I did last Christmas but that was; well it was very special circumstances."

"No-no," he waved her excused away with a hand; gently pulling Lara down onto his lap for a cuddle. "I meant recording an album just with me. Different music from Cluinn; more gentle – acoustic. A bit of a vanity project, not something that we are looking to shift in millions of units. I have loads of music I've written and want to write; but it just doesn't fit in with the style of the band, so I am thinking of making an album of it; just release it quietly, let other people hear it as a way of expressing myself, not a huge money making, fan gathering thing."

"That sounds like a nice idea," she shrugged. "And where would I come into it?"

"Record some of the songs with me. Be on the album." He continued as she opened her mouth, sure that she would object. "It won't ever be hugely promoted, that would not be why I made it, more as a way of saying there is a different side to the music I write and who I am. And you are part of that Iz; so it would make sense for you to be on it too – that and I love your voice."

"Hmm – thanks," her voice was dry with amusement as she smiled down at Lara, currently cuddled down in his lap, sucking her thumb. "Although I thought Cluinn had an album to make?"

"Can't do a thing until Jim is out of rehab," he reasoned pragmatically. "And that isn't for another five weeks. We could easily get something down in that time – I am not looking for huge production and styling on this. Like I said, I would probably recoop my costs of production and a little more through sales; might grow the fanbase of Phantom by a hundred people max. This isn't a vehicle for any of that. Please Iz, what do you think?" He pleaded with his eyes; holding out his free arm, glad when she linked fingers with him, drawing her into his side so that were lying on their bed as a family unit; his arms around his wife and daughter.

"Yes, okay then," she said with a slight laugh. "At least it means I belong to both you and Phantom."


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter 55

The sound of yelling permeated my dreams. It was a sustained noise, growing in intensity and pitch; the tone dragging me upwards to consciousness, forcing me away from my dreams and pushing me into the darkness of the night. I woke with a start; unaware of my surrounding; confused at where I was and what time of day it was. A whole two second ticked by as my brain engaged and I realised that it was the middle of the night and the wailing was Lara.

"Oh god," I muttered wearily. She was teething; her canines starting to cut through the gums. It had woken her for the past week, cruelly depriving me of sleep in a similar pattern to when she had been born. I hesitantly stuck my foot out from under the warm duvet where Ric and I were nestled up against the cold January night, having to force myself into the cold house. A large warm hand stopped me.

"I'll go get her." The voice was gruff with sleep, sounding as tired as I felt, but the offer was more then I could refuse.

"Bring her in with us, I'll get the medicine." My eyes had grown accustom to the darkness and I could make out his figure as he moved around the bed and stumbled to the door, ignoring the low curse as he crashed into the doorframe. I lay there for a few seconds more before rolling through the warmth of my husband's side of the bed and extracted the children's medication from our bathroom cabinet, filling the syringe with the neon pink liquid.

I had hoped that we would have an unbroken night, uninterrupted repose without a child between us. It was only a week into January and the next day my husband was leaving for the start of Cluinn's second world tour. A romantic few hours alone together was what I had craved, not sleeping with a fractious toddler.

By the time I came out the bathroom, they were both back in bed, the covers drawn up to Lara's chin; her glowing pink cheeks caught in the latent light from the bathroom. I knelt down on the bed and swiftly siphoned the Calpol into her mouth; forcing her to swallow it and ease the pain that had woken her. It had become routine over the past few nights.

I turned out the light and returned to bed, lying awkwardly with our daughter in between us, feeling Ric capture my feet between his, share what little warmth was left in the bed as he lay next to Lara. His hand crept out to grasp mine in the dark and as I closed my eyes I heard his muttered whisper. "Love you Izzy."

The word made tears spring to my eyes; the knowledge that he would not be next to me in bed for weeks to come, unable to hold him as he said those words. They were touring for eight months, starting again in the Antipodes and moving across the southern hemisphere to the Americas, crossing the vast continent to arrive back in Europe for the spate of summer festivals. The 'Revelations' tour; partner to the album that had been released at the beginning of December to rave reviews, the public hungry for music from this talented British group who had burst onto the scene with such a noise.

It had been over a year and a half since their last album and the fans had been impatient for more; its release was one of the most hyped and awaited of the year. It had spent Christmas and New Year at number one in the album charts and the band had spent most of December promoting and pushing it, appearing on all the chart shows, chat shows and music programmes that they could. It had been a long and often lonely month.

But I accepted it with a new understanding; with a patience born from experience and knowledge. I now had insight into the recording process; a deeper knowledge of the complex path that had to be travelled to turn the scribbling in Ric's notebook into an album of music. His hair-brained idea to record his own mainly acoustic album with a quick turn around and little fanfare was eagerly accepted by EGA, keen to capitalize on his ability to sell records and so he was given free rein to hire whoever and whatever was needed to produce an album in the quickest time possible.

I soon realised that he already had the music, vast reams of it; words and notes parading across the torn and scuffed pages of the hard backed linen bound books that he took everywhere with him. As long as I had known he had carried them around, the earlier ones filled with lecture notes dispersed with music; the later with lyrics and staves of music. Somehow these were changed into workable scores and it was only then that he would sit at the piano in the house, or go out to the studio attached to the garage and plug in his guitar and play through, amending and changing what he had written. It was fascinating to watch and listen to him work.

It had been an early August afternoon, the Scottish weather for once being hot enough that I we had all the door flung open to the deck; letting the warm air in through the house. Ric sat at the piano, only a pair of shorts on and I lay on the sofa, ostensibly listening to him play, but distracted by the sight of his back; watching the muscles bunch and tighten, move underneath his skin as he pounded the keys. Lara was busy playing at my feet and I was feeling drowsy with the heat and sight of my semi-naked husband, hoping that our daughter would go down easily that night and we would have the evening to ourselves.

"Izzy, can you sight read this?" He stopped playing and turned on the piano stool, leant forward and handed me a piece of paper. His hair had grown a little longer and it brushed his neck as he moved. I smiled languidly at him, letting my thoughts show in my eyes as I ran a gaze over his body. After the shock of performing at T, he had once again starting some serious gym training and his body was looking particularly well built, especially as he wasn't hiding it under layers of clothing.

I pulled it from his fingers, flopped back down on the sofa and held it in front of my eyes, glancing over the notes, humming it softly. "Go on then," I gestured to him after a read through and he started to play and sing as I followed the score, joining in where his handwriting marked my entrance. It was a simple tune, lacking the swooping riffs and complex melodies of most of the Cluinn songs but there was an intensity to the words that left me a little breathless – it had been written straight from the heart.

"Good," was his vague comment as we reached the end and I sat up with a frown.

"Good?" I couldn't help but rise and he sighed.

"Pitch perfect with enough intensity to carry through the bridge and automatically in the same key without dragging or lagging. Is that better?" I caught the smile at the edge of his mouth.

"Much. So what is this for?"

"Oh, something I wrote, god; last year I think. Just thought it might sound good on this album. What can I call it?" I was momentarily put on the back foot, unaware that he had got as far as choosing music.

"Oh um, 'Remember When', or something like that. I didn't realise you were ready to record?"

"Yeah, studio booked for next week. Jim's out of rehab at the end of August and we have to seriously get down and work on the next Cluinn album, so it's now or never. EGA are talking about holding back and releasing it for Valentine's Day though, so it has ages for post-production."

And that had been the end of the conversation. Richard had gone back to his composing and I had once again caught up with child rearing; PR work from Tatiana and my degree; until one morning I had woken up to find that he had arranged to drop Lara off with his grandparents for the day and was planning on dragging me into the studios.

Reluctant was the best way to describe my attitude as he drove me into central Glasgow, his tight jeans and mask defining him as Phantom, although more simply dressed then he tended to be for performances. Once inside he introduced me to the crew as his wife Isabella and with little pomp or ceremony hustled me into the recording booth and asked me to sing.

At first I froze, remembering the time over three years ago when he had once asked me to do the same, in a scabby studio in London. Then his behaviour had been gentle but demanding; far removed from the way he treated me nowadays; and yet surrounded by all the equipment for recording; the instruments in their stands I feared he might change from the caring loving man I married back into that short tempered; sarcastic person.

Thankfully he proved me wrong and the three days we spent in the studio together turned into a real eye opener for me. I started to learn how the tracks were laid down; how the music was fined tuned; mixed and produced into the sound heard by the public and also how much his knowledge and talent was respected by those around him.

And when tiredness and frustration drove me to tears and anger he came in and wrapped his arms around me before encouraging me to try again with kind words and kisses; not bothering to hide his relationship or the affection that we shared. It boosted my ego and calmed my fears no end. It was gratifying to know that he valued my input and was prepared to help me perform to my absolute potential. And if a few people figured out the secret of who Phantom was along the way; he didn't seem at all concerned.

It meant that we spent a lot of time together; singing, playing music, eating lunch and bonding in a way that we never had before. For the first time I was able to get to know my husband from all angles – fall in love with a side of him that had always been kept away from me, previously by our own misunderstandings and the ministrations of Devlin Summers. And slowly in the time we spent together, I was able to peel back the layers that disguised him as Phantom and discovered what drove my husband on his musical path.

Over the course of two weeks he recorded ten tracks, four of which included me on vocals, duetting with him. One particular song always bought tears to my eyes, singing of how; even when we were apart our bodies ached for each other and we wished we could be together. It was that song that now ran through my mind as I lay in bed next to him, listening to the mixed tempo of his and Lara's breathing. Sleep was slow in coming but by degrees I felt my eyelids drag down, tiredness erase my mind and slowly I fell asleep again.

* * *

I waved as the plane taxied down the runway; waved madly as it gathered speed and took off into the sky; tears streaming down my face. Originally I didn't want to come to the airport, didn't want our last minutes together to be seen by the entourage that had been gathered together to travel with them on tour. But in the end I could not say goodbye at home and handing Lara over to our lovely new nanny, I climbed into the car with him to accompany him on the first leg of his journey.

It was a cold misty day; stinging sleet falling from the sky dampening the moods of all those being left behind. It was so early in the morning that only the most dedicated of fans were gathered in a small huddle in the departures hall and they were quickly satisfied with a few autographs and photo opportunities. I held Ric's hand, not caring if anyone saw us together; too upset to contemplate having to deal with publicity from being labelled as Phantom's girlfriend or wife. All I could think about was that it would be several months until we would be together again, mainly as I was unwilling to fly more then a few hours with Lara, the thought of taking a wiggling toddler on a long flight too much to bear.

We stood by the departure gate and I raked my gaze over him, trying to imprint his appearance on my memory. He was dressed as Phantom, but in a mode that had concessions to the next twenty-four hours he was spending on a plane. His jeans were not the tight style favoured by Phantom, but a soft worn pair he wore around home; a faded t-shirt under a hooded sweatshirt, a large scarf wrapped around his neck and topped with a leather jacket. His mask was an old domino, soft and worn, flesh coloured in tone so that it didn't draw huge amounts of attention to his face.

But I had learnt to look past all the styling and the clothes and as I gazed into his eyes I felt the tears that I had managed to dampen down well up again. "Izzy, please don't cry," he pleaded softly, taking my hand in his; giving a kiss to his palm. "I am back in April for Lara's birthday."

"And our first anniversary," I added with a sniff causing him to smile.

"Of course, how dare I forget that!" He pressed a swift kiss to my lips. "And I will phone as soon as we land in Australia, promise. And we can Skype every day and take photos; like we discussed. Please don't cry – it isn't worth it. I could be away in the army, or out on an oil rig – that would be much worse and we would have less contact." I nodded, trying to smile through the tears. "Be brave for Lara and me – please!" And with another kiss, he turned and walked through the security gates, separating us for the next four months.

I moped for a whole week; lay around the house feeling too tired and glum to do much more then continually shovel the washing through the machine and make meals for Lara. We had employed a lovely nanny to help me with the day to day raising of our daughter as Tatiana's business was growing in leaps and bounds and my role within the company increasing daily. She claimed that gaining Cluinn as an account helped no end and with Angus' help had designed a really fantastic website that seemed to draw all sorts of clients in.

Not having time to do it all and finding such fulfilment in the work that I did, Ric and I took the decision to hire some help and Mairi joined us at the start of December as the album was released and the media circus that accompanied the new music swung into action. In her early forties she had spent the past twenty years looking after children and was thoroughly approved of by Elsie. Lara had taken one look at her and fallen in love, enjoying the attention that she gave and I found her presence in the house reassuring and comforting; especially in Ric's absence.

However having another person to help meant that I had time to myself; time to wonder and think and miss my husband. The bed was huge and empty; his basin remained clean and unused, no razor or shaving foam to clutter the surface; even his cupboard was only partially full, for although he had costumes for the shows; he still had to take a fairly large amount of clothing with him.

It took three weeks for my new family to loose their patience. I was around at Brian and Elsie's for my usual weekly visit; continuing my monologue of Cluinn's adventures in Australia and how much I missed him. Elsie was brief in her sympathy. "If you miss him that much, why not go and visit him?" The words came out tartly and I blushed. I had been going on a bit.

"But, I, it's so far away and Lara can't travel that far."

"For the Lord's sake Isabella, you have a wonderful and responsible nanny now, why not leave Lara with her in England and go and join them for a couple of weeks."

"But I will miss her."

"And you are missing Richard!" I bit my lip. Spoken in her practical way it was obvious and true.

"It's very expensive." Last excuse which she diced and threw away in a few words.

"I am sure your husband can manage the cost," she said tartly, looking around the living room and the new sofa and chairs that he had recently bought them. "So stop moping around and just book your ticket and go. I will keep an eye on Marie and Lara for you; never you fear!" I bit back a smile, realising the more worked up she got; the thicker her accent became, similar to her Grandson.

And so with little ceremony and the shortest notice I had ever had for holiday, I booked a ticket (with the luxury of first class) packed my suitcase and boarded the plane for nearly two days.

The only trouble with such an impulsive move was that I had been unable to contact Richard and let him know that I was flying out. Despite four messages left on his phone, he didn't contact me before I took off, or when we changed in Hong Kong. Finally in desperation I called his friend. "Hey Gus," I spoke as he answered the phone.

"Izzy? Hey; what's up? Shit what time is it over in the UK at the moment?"

"I'm not sure, but it's early in Hong Kong where I am at the airport."

"Shit! No way – what are you – stupid question. I take it you are looking for your husband?" The way he said it sent a shiver of lust down my spine.

"Yes, he's not answering his phone."

"Lost the USB cable and can't charge it. We haven't had a chance to get another one. If you are at the airport, could you have a look?"

"Sure, is he around?"

"No, he's being interviewed; we are part of a press junket all day. Does he know you are coming? Didn't say anything to us!"

"Well, no, not really – haven't been able to get hold of him – so..." I trailed off, suddenly realising the vulnerable position I had put myself in. The last time I had placed so must trust in Ric it had gone horribly wrong. Hopefully this time it would be different. "I am due to land at nine Australian time and thought I would just go straight to the hotel dump my stuff and come and see you, but I don't have a pass Gus, can you sort it for me."

"Yeah sure, I'll leave it at the front desk for you and by the way he's booked in under Mr Ian Richards, so I'll also tell them to expect you."

"Right," I understood the adaptation of the surname, it made sense. "So, should I just turn up at the arena and it will be okay?"

"Unless you want to turn up and sing yeah, should be fine."

"Sing? No thanks Gus, I'm already knackered, don't think I will have the energy." I was currently exhausted with travelling, the change of time zones and flights, although first class meant that I had at least flown in luxury and wasn't feeling quite so skanky as if I had made the journey in economy. "But listen, keep it a surprise would you?"

"Cheeky woman! Why do you always make me keep the secrets?"

"Because you are so good at it! Please Angus!" I heard the sigh down the phone.

"Okay sweets, because it's you!"

* * *

It was ten at night by the time I got to the hotel, having been travelling almost constantly for twenty-four hours. My body clock was confused and out of sync; my brain muddled with the vast amount of time zones I have flown through. But I was at least gratified to see that his huge suite was slightly sterile and bland when I gained entry. Clothes hung up, a photo of Lara and I next to the bed and his pyjamas folded on the pillow. There was nothing to suggest that it was the living quarters of a rock-star, not that he had every met any stereotypes.

I had every intention of simply dropping my bags and going straight on to the concert; surprise my husband as he came off stage; but the sight of the bed large and clean with fresh linen was too tempting. Despite first class travel, I had been in the same clothes for over twenty-four hours, flying through eleven hours of time difference. As far as my body was concerned it was about eleven in the morning, I should be having a phone conference for my English degree, or writing press releases. Instead it was dark outside and night time and the throbbing in my head was overwhelming.

I stripped off my wrinkled clothes and stepped under the shower, refreshing myself under the jet of water, towelled myself dry and sat on the bed with every intention of opening my suitcase, pulling out something suitable to wear to the concert. Instead I fell backwards against the pillows and was asleep almost instantaneously.

I drifted into consciousness when I heard a door slam; a light switched on in the room beyond the bedroom. However my exhaustion wouldn't completely let me go and I hovered just below waking; the arms of sleep trying to reclaim me and draw me back down into its embrace. I lay there lids weighed down with exhaustion, waiting for Ric to come and join me in bed, then I could simply cuddle up to him, feel the weight of his legs draped over mine; his body melded into my spine and his arm over my side; hugging me. The thought had me stretching slightly like a cat and I climbed another notch to wakefulness.

"I don't know how the fuck you got into this room, or who let you in, but I am giving you until the count of ten to get your arse out of my bed and don't bother telling me you're naked because I don't care." The rich Scottish tones of my husband flooded into the room and I lifted my head groggily from the pillow, squinting in the darkness and rolling over so I could look at him. He was standing in the doorway between the living room and bedroom of the suite; turned slightly away from the view of the bed; obviously out of respect for whoever he thought was in it, his hands on his hips; brow drawn into a frown. I could see he was angry – obviously thought I was an errant fan; trying to gain a favour.

"But I," I started back.

"One-two-three," he started to count and when I didn't move continued. "I'm a married man sweetheart; you aren't going to get lucky."

"Yes, I bloody well know that," I responded crossly, awake as I heard the taunting threat in his voice. "As you are married to me!" His head snapped up as he heard my response.

"Izzy?" He was in the bedroom in one step, fumbling for the light switch as I pushed myself to sitting; kicking the sheets back and trying to climb out of the vast bed and get to him, touch him. We reached each other at the same time, our meeting a furious tangle of arms, mouths; lips and tongues, so that I fell backwards onto the bed; his considerable weight on top of me as we kissed manically. "What are you doing here?" He finally asked as we came up for air.

"I missed you!" I had thought up a hundred replies, some clever; others flippant; others intended to sexually wind him up, but they all disappeared as we sat up and he wrapped his arms around me, the smell of him; with the addition of shower gel wafting over me.

"Well, ditto, but I thought you didn't want to come out here, didn't want to bring Lara. Where is she?" He looked around the suite, as if he might have missed the presence of his daughter in our frantic reunion.

"She is at home with Mairi and your Grandparents. It was madness coming out here in the first place. Trying to do it with a small toddler would just make me certifiable. And before you say anything it was your Grandmother who told me to stop moaning and come out, so blame her if you are not happy that I left our child in the care of another." He laughed

"Nope, that sounds like Gram all right! So you flew all the way out here just to be with me. I'm honoured." His lips sought mine again, the kiss more gentle this time, thoughtful and lingering. "So are you jet lagged beyond belief and want to fall straight back asleep again, or can I keep you awake for a little while? What time did you get in?"

"What time is it?" I glanced down at my empty wrist, realising I had left my watch in the bathroom after the shower.

"Half past midnight. Did you arrive on the evening flight?" I nodded.

"But I've had two hours kip, don't feel quite so groggy," I hastened to add, not wanting to loose a potential second, after the monumental effort to be with him.

"You'll feel like death tomorrow morning, trust me," he said with a knowing nod of his head. "But as you claim you aren't too tired now, shall we order some champagne; run a bath and then go to bed and make mad passionate love for a few hours?" He had a smile on his lips as he bent forward and kissed me on the lips again.

Of course he was right about the jet lag. He bounded out of bed that morning and into the shower; the sound of his singing woke me up as he belted out some old Frank Sinatra song. I lay in the bed, creased and messy after an energetic love making session that kept us awake for another couple of hours. We had finally gained sleep at two in the morning. How he could be awake seven hours later and full of energy was beyond me.

I was drifting between sleep and waking when he kissed me thoroughly; wet droplets from his hair shaking all over my face; causing me to splutter and brush them away. He had already bounded over and opened the curtains so the room was flooded with bright summer sunshine. Hard to believe it was snowing at home. The energy of his movements woke me up and I opened a beady eye to the sight of my husband naked except for a towel tied around his waist. I couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. His hair had grown again so that it brushed the bottom of his neck once more; it suited him best like that and his arms stood out muscular and strong, the tattoos rippling as he moved; an obvious six pack disappearing into the towel. He noticed my dopey gaze for he moved back around the bed and gave me another kiss, lingering this time; his mouth tasting of toothpaste.

"Have you got to be somewhere?" I asked as he withdrew again, the towel dropping as he tugged on boxers and jeans.

"Guys are over; morning catch up in half an hour – joys of having the biggest room – I get everyone coming here. You can stay in bed though. I'm having breakfast sent up." He turned and faced me again, smiling as he looked down. "Don't pout Iz; you chose to come out here – I'm working. At least I don't have any interviews or anything today – we can spend a few hours together before the sound check this afternoon." I brightened considerably at that remark.

"So who is here anyway?" I asked shifting myself up on the pillows, trying to restore some order to my hair with my hands – a fruitless task.

"Pete's managing again; same crew as last time. Alanya is out with Jim as well."

"How's that been going?" He sighed and sat down on the bed again; rubbing his face with his hands.

"Well, we've only been on the road for three weeks, so early days yet, but we are managing. We are trying not to drink in front of him, so there isn't much alcohol around – the crew's nicknamed this the 'Sobriety Tour'. Gus and I have taken to sneaking out like underage schoolboys. And Alanya is keeping close tabs on him. I just hope he doesn't revolt under the constant scrutiny." I pulled a wry face sympathising with the situation – it couldn't be easy.

"So, is he on the wagon forever? Not allowed to drink ever, ever again?"

"I think he is allowed to have like one supervised glass of wine with a meal, but otherwise yeah kind of – no benders, no big bar sessions – it could be his undoing and of course no drugs – although he is still smoking." He flopped back against the bed, running his hands up my leg that was sticking out of the covers. "But it is actually quite nice to have rational sensible conversation with him again. I didn't really realise how far he had fallen away, guess I was too caught up with my own problems. And of course it helps not having him smoking spliffs all the time from a personal point of view – not so tempted myself."

"You bad boy!" I levered myself out from under the sheets, climbed on top of him; feeling his penis grow and harden in his jeans as I shifted, leaning forward and running my hands over his naked chest.

"Izzy," my name came out as a groan as he lifted his head for a kiss. "They are all going to be here in a minute – stop being such a temptress!" I laughed and leant forward again, running a lazy finger across the scar on his cheek; feeling the hard shiny flesh under my fingertip. I had grown so use to the sight of it over the past year that I barely noticed it anymore. At home he didn't bother wearing anything to hide it, there was no one to potentially see the scar, as isolated as we were – but now here on tour, when he had to inhabit the character of the Phantom for long periods of time, he suddenly had to cover his face most of the day.

"Did you ever make an appointment to see Mr Dayan about getting this removed?" I asked with curiosity momentarily replacing passion.

"Hmm," he looked up at me with a slight frown and I realised he wasn't totally aware of what I had been doing. I ran my finger over his left cheek again.

"What? Oh yeah; I have an appointment for when I'm back in April, although I doubt anything can be done until the end of the tour. I've been reading up on it and though surgery can improve the look; it will never go completely Iz; you know that." My actions had caused the moment to be lost and he shifted out from underneath me and sat up. "It doesn't make any difference anyway – Phantom is around for as long as Cluinn is around; can't change a character once it has been created; even Kiss have got the grease paints out again!"

"I know and it doesn't bother me Ric; I was thinking more about everyday life, when you are not singing with Cluinn; when Phantom doesn't have to exist. Anyway, I told you; stop referring to yourself in the third person – you are you, whatever you are wearing or calling yourself. And I would seriously advise you to put some more clothes on, or I will be tempted to distract you again!" I sat back on my heels and gestured towards his chest with a shake of my head. I tried very hard not to have a problem with his on stage character and most of the time it was fine; sometimes it seemed that Ric found it more confusing, although that was because he subconsciously associated the state of his face and his choice to hide it with the death of his mother.

"Well said Mrs Stewart," he mocked gently as he stood up and pulled on a t-shirt, a knock at the door happening almost at the same time. He pressed another kiss on me and wandered out the bedroom, bare faced; carefully pulling the sliding doors shut behind him.

I heard the sound of masculine voices as they greeted him and settled down commenting on the show last night and the audience, talking about lighting, set up and sound, the hum of conversation rising and falling. I clambered out of bed and opened my suitcase on the floor. No point in unpacking, the tour was moving to Sydney early the next day. I tiptoed around the edge of the large bag as I showered and went to dress. The only trouble was that I was still tired and slightly disorientated. The space around the edge of the bed and the bag was not what I judged it to be and with a false economy of movement I tried to skirt around the large black suitcase, tripped and ended up falling over with a loud thump, landing on the contents with a loud curse; tears of embarrassment welling up in my eyes. "Ow, shit; shit, ow; bugger!"

So caught up in my own battle with the luggage that I didn't notice the voices the other side of the door had fallen silent and it was only the sound of the wood sliding open that made me look up, Ric standing in the door; looking down at me with a frown. From my vantage point on the floor I could see the rest of the band peering over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" He questioned in shock, bending over and helping me up from my ungainly position; his arm circling my waist, holding the dressing gown closed as I straightened myself out."

"It's okay, it's Izzy!" I heard Jim called out to whoever else was in the room. "Iz, so glad you are here – Alanya was getting really desperate for some female company." I ground my teeth slightly at his comment, so true to type.

"Do you often have other women in your hotel room then? Last night you thought I was an errant fan, this morning the guys are happy to see that it's me and not someone else. I could draw some horrible conclusions here Ric!" I kept my voice low, anger at a simmer.

"Hardly!" He responded with a short laugh. "The guys could hear you moving around and wanted to know if I had fallen off my pedestal and let someone else up; hopefully that is why they are so glad it's you!" He nipped my ear. "Now finish getting dressed, I can hear Jim calling Laney now, she will be around in minutes – he's right about her wanting some companionship.

"She probably has testosterone overload," I commented mildly, feeling the anger drain from me and relaxing against him. "And by the way, no; I am not singing on stage – so you can put the kybosh on that one straight away!" I answered the overheard query, causing him to laugh.

"No 'Broken' it's not being performed on this tour. We were actually wondering about some of the new stuff you and I recorded, if I wanted to promote any of that – and you as you're here?" He pressed another kiss to my lips and left the room again, leaving me pondering his offer.

* * *

"Tell me something," Alanya said as we sat by the water's edge sipping iced coffee and looking around at the metropolitan bustle around us. The men had gone off for the afternoon sound check and Laney and I had decided to indulge in a spot of retail therapy and a tour of the cosmopolitan city. We had wandered around the city centre, soaking up the vibrant culture and I was pleasantly surprised at how pleasant it was. Three hours of sightseeing later and we had to sit down and rest our aching feet; the ruins of our shopping as bags around our feet.

"What Laney? You okay, you look tired."

"I, I'm fine," my friend answered, a sunbeam hitting her face and causing me a moment of surprise. I had become use to Alanya always looking beautiful, never a hair out of place; her flawless creamy white skin always expertly made up and hair beautifully styled. But as the sunbeam hit her, I noticed the bags under her eyes; the slight grey tinge to her skin and frowned – this wasn't the famous model that had graced the front covers of many top selling glossy magazines.

"Is everything okay with you and Jim?" She had returned to him after he had been let out of rehab, choosing to forgo her modelling contracts and be by his side for a few months. I knew she had desperately been hoping to fall pregnant, but luck hadn't been on their side. "Is he behaving himself?"

"Yes, yes he is! In some ways it's like having the old James back you know – I've been so busy with my own life that I didn't realise how far apart we had drifted and so we are simply getting to know each other again, be together again." She cast a conspiratorial glance at me. "But you know what that's like!"

"Frustrating, amazing; exhausting and in the end gratifying," I summarised for her thinking about the reunion between Richard and myself. She nodded sagely.

"Yes, although possibly a little more of the frustrating in my case. He is trying so hard to keep clean Izzy; so very hard – but there is so much drink around. I've requested that the minibar in the hotel rooms are always empty of alcohol so he isn't tempted by that and the hotel bars are not to serve him alcohol – just in case." She hefted a sigh. "But it is hard trying to be a keeper and a loving wife – I find the best way to distract him is to; well," she leant forward and added in a whisper. "I take him to bed – we make love and then he forgets he even wants a drink." She straightened up again and I tried very hard not to laugh, although she smiled at the sight of me biting my lip. "Oh Izzy, don't worry; you can laugh – it is a slightly ridiculous situation, even though I am exhausted!" I let my bubble of laughter escape realising that is why she probably looked so tired.

"It could be a lot worse though Laney, if you think about it! After all would you rather have Jim, sober by your side and be tired or have him drunk and stoned all the time!"

"Oh, I know – it's just that I am feeling so tired now it is actually making me feel ill – I dread to think how new mother's cope with tiredness."

"You just managed," I reassured her, then hesitated. "Laney did you say you felt ill? You don't think you could be pregnant could you?"

"I doubt it," she shook her head. "The specialist said that the chances were quite low, I just don't have a regular enough cycle – I guess all the years of watching my weight." She paused and looked down at her coffee. "It's been quite nice to just back off for a little bit, eat a bit more of what I want; not have to worry about looking good for the next photo shoot." She sighed. "Although like I said; feeling tired and ill. What are the other symptoms of pregnancy? How did you feel with Lara?"

"Well, you know I didn't realise I was pregnant for ages, kept denying it," I prevaricated, slightly unwilling to think back to that period of my life. I hefted a sigh. "Okay, from what I remember, the feeling sick obviously and there was a slightly strange taste in my mouth; not hugely unpleasant, just different. And my breasts ached," my hand drifted up to my chest, lightly cupping one boob that ached slightly with the memory. "Also strange aches in your hips and stomach that don't make sense, almost as if you are being stretched; it is apparently all your muscles relaxing. Oh; also emotionally all over the place – the strangest thing will have you in tears." I paused with a frown thinking over the list.

"Yes, well; I do have a few of those symptoms – strange aches and stuff. Oh my gosh Izzy; do you think – is there a chance? Oh god, I wonder how many weeks if I am and you aren't supposed to fly. I don't want to miscarry again." Her eyes were shining bright and she grabbed my hands across the table. "Can we go and get a pregnancy test now; please?" I nodded with a smile.

"Right away."

* * *

I watched the show from the edge of the stage that night; looked at my husband and his friends performing – putting a massive amount of energy and effort into the act. Phantom was out front; the stage having a runway into the audience so he could run down into the crowds, get closer to them. I found myself crying as he sung 'Forget the World' my emotions overwhelming me; gasping as on lift me up the platform started to rise into the air so he was suspended over the audience singing out to them; clapping as the pyrotechnics went off at the end.

And when he wrapped a sweaty arm around me and whispered in my ear that he couldn't wait to get me back to the hotel room; I nodded and let him lead me away, pausing for the briefest of showers and to get changed before we jumped in a car and went back to the hotel.

The lovemaking was deep and gentle and I shuddered against him as he came into me, tears falling from my eyes and wetting his front. It was heaven to be back in his arms. I climbed out of bed with the excuse to tidy myself up in the bathroom, when in reality there was another more pressing concern.

It was only after listing the symptoms of pregnancy to Alanya that I made a mental inventory of all the strange aches and pains that I had been experiencing. Ric and I had decided last year that we wanted another child. As Lara passed her year and a half of being on the planet; I had come off the pill and we had waited with hope for a positive result. But my period had come at the end of both November and December, adding to the list of reasons that I had been upset at saying goodbye to my husband for such a long period of time.

But as I described the strange taste in my mouth, the aching boobs and the pains in the hips I suddenly became aware of the twinges and discomfort in my own body. It was the end of January; my period was due any day, but there was a chance; the slightest chance...I had subtly bought a pregnancy kit when Alanya had purchased hers and now alone in the bathroom I decided to use it.

"Iz, what you doing in there?" Ric's voice floated in as I sat on the loo and tried to use the test. I heard him get up from the bed and gazed at the stick with a mixture of panic and wonder; my heart beating a fast tattoo in my chest as the small window started to appear with the result.

"Izzy?" I looked up at my husband standing naked over me; staring down at my hand; clutched around the white plastic, too panicked now to look at the result. "Is that? Are you?" I forced my fist to unclench; my fingers to relax and let the test lie in my palm; the indicator face up. And in that little window was a blue cross – a positive result.

"Yes," I replied simply. "Yes, we are!"


	56. Chapter 56

**Of course just as things were settling down...I have had some discussion about making my characters lurch from crisis to crisis, but I hope it doesn't read like that, after all life has been fairly settled for a while now. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter and as always please review.**

Chapter 56

Sunlight. It was the sunlight that finally woke me up and I sat up with a start, glancing around me wildly for the clock to find out what the time was. It was impossible to tell with the long summer days merging into nights, the only way to sleep was to have thick blackout curtains at the windows, for the sun which barely rose in the winter, only set about three in the morning in the summer. Quarter past eight! I flinched with shock, unaware that it was so late, panic rising as I realised that I hadn't heard Lara move or wake up and she normally rose about seven.

I had been awake in the night, the damnable needs of pregnancy meaning I seemed to want the loo every minute of the day; especially as I crept nearer to the third trimester and my stomach started to be an obvious swell in my body. I had lain awake for a couple of hours, sleep evading me; excited because my husband was coming home for a few days – I would get to see him again.

Of course he had been back in April for two glorious weeks and somehow, impressively managed to dive straight back into being the family man, wrestling with the assembly of his daughter's toddler bed; celebrating her birthday and watching as his house was overrun by a surfeit of small children high on sugary cakes and juice and celebrate our anniversary by presenting me with a beautiful piano piece he had written and a meal out.

It had been even harder saying goodbye after that, the emotions of pregnancy getting a hold on me, disappointed that he had missed the all important twenty weeks scan by less then a fortnight and knowing that it would be mid-July before we were once again reunited. We spoke everyday, texts bounced back and forth between us from around the world and I often sat in front of the computer with the camera on, Lara babbling away to her father with all the irreverent chatter that a two year old spoke.

He clung to every detail I passed on, memorised every measurement that they took of the baby and saved every scan photo. There was an ironic contrast to his attitude compared with the man I lived with throughout my first pregnancy. He was by my side all the way in spirit, even if he couldn't actually be there.

I had the full support of his Grandmother; her professional and calm approach a helpful bonus, although I found myself approaching this second pregnancy with a much more relaxed attitude; overall much less worried about the whole event. It was a marked difference to Laney, whose test had also proved positive, although was ahead of me by a good month and a half. So nervous about the person growing inside her she was determined to do everything to the letter, nearly driving me mad with her constant fussing and worry.

But she and Jim were not on my mind as I woke up; instead I was mulling over a list of chores in my mind, expecting Richard to return early afternoon. Lara and Mairi had made a cake yesterday and we were due to ice it today; his Grandparents were coming over for supper and I had to spatchcock and marinate the chickens; ready for the barbecue that evening. I clambered out of bed, my hand automatically going under my bump; supporting the weight and feeling for the slight kicking that signalled our second child moving.

Unlike my first pregnancy I was blooming with health at twenty-six weeks, my body ripe and rounded, a noticeable bump forming in front; carrying less weight then before, probably as I was already chasing a child around the house. Try and dress Lara in something pretty, I added to my mental list, hoping to wrench her out of the usual jeans that she wore and into a party dress with a ribbon in her curly red locks. I knew I was setting myself a hard task on that one.

Mairi lived in the converted quarters next to the garage, letting her have a degree of privacy and respecting mine; not coming over to the house until nine in the morning. Therefore I raised an eyebrow when I heard the sound of the television from downstairs; the chatter of CBeebies meant that my daughter had managed to turn it on by herself. I allowed myself a momentary swell of pride before going downstairs; my hand automatically supporting the swell of my stomach as I waddled downstairs like an old man; leaning on the handrail.

I wandered through to the kitchen, pausing to switch the kettle on; frowning as I felt the heat of it; recently boiled – starting when I glanced over the counter into the family room for sitting on the sofa; Lara on his lap, was my husband. "Ric!" I moved swiftly, despite my increased size; around the counter and flung myself across the back of the chair; wrapping my arms around his neck. "I didn't expect you in until at least this afternoon"!

"I caught a flight last night, straight after we finished – couldn't see the point in waiting another twenty-four hours." He laughed at my enthusiastic response and gently pushing his daughter off his lap he stood up; moved around the sofa and took me in his arms, chuckling as he had to twist slightly to kiss my lips across my bump. "And I guess Lara heard me come in as she came downstairs as I opened the door. We've been watching telly for the past hour – thought you would like to sleep!"

My laughter came hollow and sharp. "Sleep – isn't that what you want to do?"

"I got some on the plane, although don't like Virgin First Class; it's a bit like lights out at boarding school! But yeah – didn't realise how trippy children's television can be when you are tired!" He yawned and then leant in and gave me another kiss. "Don't suppose Mairi is around? If I am going back to bed I would really like to take you with me!"

"Nope sorry, not yet – she starts at nine." I ran my hands up and down his arms; smiling as I watched him flinch slightly at the action, obviously unintentionally tickling him. Another smile as my gaze roamed all over him; drinking in his appearance; reassociating myself with his body; his face. He reached for my hands, taking them in his; his eyes locking on mine, no doubt doing the same to me as I was to him, taking in each others features – feeling the skin beneath our fingers, the pulse in our wrists.

I reached up and gently pulled the prosthetic off Ric's face; wanting to see all of him; smiling as his other cheek was exposed and I pushed the tangle of hair off his face; it had grown as usual and was escaping the rough ponytail he had tied it back in. His hand wandered to my stomach where he placed both hands over the swell pushing its way out of the t-shirt I wore. I felt the kick in response, moving under his hands and watched as his faced broke into the widest smile – he hadn't experienced this before.

"How you feeling?" He asked; his hands moving again; obviously hoping for another response.

"I'm fine darling; blooming health according to the doctor and your Grandmother – never fear." I yawned and leant against him, inhaling his smell; wrinkling my nose at the less then desirable aroma. "You need a shower."

"I've been on a plane for nearly twenty hours, I probably honk. Come and have one with me."

"No, as I said; Mairi will be over in half an hour, wait until then – I don't like leaving Lara alone if I am distracted and I am sure that is what you are planning on doing?" He pulled a face. "You can have a shower by yourself?" He sighed.

"Think I better – he lifted an arm and sniffed with mistrust. Our Nanny might take one whiff and walk out again!" He pressed another kiss to my lips, muttered against them. "As soon as she starts, come up and see me – not a second later. Promise!" I nodded, returned the kiss and then watched him as he wandered off upstairs, my eyes falling on the two suitcases that had been abandoned by the door – no doubt full of washing. Typical.

The one thing I had learnt about welcoming my husband back from when he had been away was that it took him a while to settle back down into civilian life. In the same way when anyone was apart from their home for a period and forced to settle into a routine that was not their own, they had trouble adapting to different ideas and practices. The fact that Richard was treated as something of a demi-god whilst he was on tour did not help matters.

He was not vain or narcissist enough to believe that he did not have to help out, but it always took him a few days to remember that things did not automatically happen at home in the same way they did when he was touring. The tea and coffee did not make themselves, newspapers had to bought from the shop, clothes were only washed if they were put in the washing machine.

With a sigh I dragged the cases into the laundry room, emptying them out and pushing armfuls of t-shirts, pants and socks into the much used and abused machine; collecting up his wash bag and putting it to one side; pausing as I found the soft toys, children's clothes and jewellery buried amongst the dirty washing.

The sound of footsteps and the rich brogue of a women's voice alerted me to the drifting of time and I stuck my head around the door. "Mairi, I'm in here!" She came and stood in the doorway, took one look at the chaos; crossed her arms and commented

"I take it your husband is back early!" I laughed at the statement and nodded.

"Would you mind keeping an eye on Lara this morning?"

"Oh aye love, I am sure you want to welcome your husband back home by doing more then his washing!" I blushed at her bold statement, even though we both knew it was the real reason. I gathered the discarded items in my arms and went to go upstairs, pausing to plant a kiss on my daughter's forehead.

"Da?" She questioned with a quirk of her brow that highlighted the resemblance to her father.

"In a little bit darling, he's just having a sleep. Stay with Mairi and she will give you breakfast."

Feeling slightly traitorous I climbed the stairs, my arms full, wondering if Ric was still in the shower. Instead as I entered the bedroom I saw him sprawled out on the bed his long naked form draped diagonally across the mattress, one pillow balled up under his head as he lay on his front; his shoulder muscles bulging making his tattoos stand out; his leg muscles developed and hard. I stood there and drooled at the sight slightly; able to appreciate it more when it stayed still in one place and was there in the flesh in front of me. Rhythmic gentle snores escaped from the body attesting to the fact that he was fast asleep.

Dropping my treasure from his bags onto the spare chair, I walked around the bed and went into the bathroom, stopping at the sight of damp towels left in a heap on the floor; steam fogging up the windows and mirrors; clothes left in a trail across the tiles. Yes it was wonderful to have my husband back – mostly!

* * *

I leant back against the railings, trying to perch on the narrow edge of a box to relieve the pressure on my feet and swollen ankles; one hand underneath my stomach supporting the bump. I was tired; slightly out of sorts and for the first time I had known, the sound coming from the stage was just that – noise, no real form or tune – just a metallic whine that jarred my ears and made my head thump in time to the rhythm.

It had been five days since Ric got back and he was still in touring mode; due to once again leave me after the Scotland concert and go onto Denmark, Germany, Spain and Italy for more festivals and concerts. He wouldn't be back for good until late August, six weeks before my due date. It had meant that he hadn't truly relaxed back into being part of our household, the early risings and gentle routines; the late meals and quiet evenings left him slightly grumpy with a tendency to disappear to the garage and thrash on his guitar after supper; too wound up to sit quietly with me.

I knew that he was trying to recalibrate himself, always considerate to my feelings; but unlike our earlier times together we were not in unison; he was still too wound up with the pressures of touring. He had snapped at me that morning when I had asked him to get Lara dressed and fed. I needed to drive her over to his Grandparents before heading over to Balado and the festival. "We bloody well have an expensive nanny, why can't she do it, if you are too busy – I have too much to get ready!" He had stormed out the bedroom his dark hair flowing out behind him, oblivious to the fact that I had sat down heavily on the bed; tears in my eyes.

He had apologised later; reconsidered his words and wrestled his daughter into some clothes before giving her breakfast; but it still marked how his behaviour had been the past few days. Part of me was glad that he was going off again; I didn't like him to be around in such a highly-strung state; it was the Richard of old keeping me company and not the man I married.

So I stood there by the side of the stage; outwardly supporting Cluinn; inwardly reviewing shopping lists; mentally checking off chores and items on my to-do lists. Nobody really gave me a second glance; I was simply another body squashed into the small space at the side of the stage. The boys were playing the Saturday evening gig; the twilight just starting as they began their set with a tremendous roar from the crowds and it felt as if everyone was watching.

I had to hand it to the band; their performances just got better with every tour so that the fans who sometimes payed hundreds for a ticket were rarely disappointed. Phantom was one of a few singers who sounded every bit as good live as he did on album; a rare occurrence. I sighed and shifted my position slightly as more people pushed past; determined to get a better view.

My husband was playing the crowds as finely as he played his violin; working them into a frenzy as he belted out songs from their current best-selling album, interposed with tunes from 'Carthesis' and 'In the Beginning'. There were even a couple of slower tracks that came from his own album 'The Fifth Cellar' that I had contributed to, the band happily adding backing music. The fans were a seething mass in front of the stage; singing, screaming and chanting as one to the music being played; pushing against the barriers that held them back; trying to climb over and being forced back down by the security guards. There was a surge forward as the lead singer jumped off the stage; starting singing to the front row; touching hands, slapping palms and even receiving the odd kiss from over excited females before he climbed back on, once again standing several feet above their heads. I simply sighed – seen it all before, several times now and went back to mentally reviewing what else needed to be done to ready the nursery for the new baby.

Back on stage he stood there, slightly back from the front centre of the stage legs braced apart as he and Jim played the bridge; his eyes closed breathing heavy as he caught it; taking advantage of having a pause in the singing. I could see him better from my seat; the view not blocked by so many tall people and therefore noticed when he opened his eyes and glanced in my direction, a private smile aimed very much at me; lips briefly blowing a kiss. It tempered my tiredness a bit – at least we had a night to ourselves before he flew off for another month and it would be nice.

He was very taken by my pregnant state; in awe of my swollen body and loved feeling the baby move inside me. As we lay in bed he ran his lips over my stomach, talking to our unborn child, singing against my skin; the vibration of his voice tickling and turning me on. I don't know if the foetus heard it or not, but I found the whole experience very erotic. It was easy to forget during daylight hours though, running around after a two year old; carrying on with the mundane chores of life; even though I felt large and heavy.

I smiled back at him; blew a kiss and mouthed my love; unnoticed by the uncaring backstage crowd. Some people were aware that I was Phantom's wife, but most were not bothered; they were professionals, understood about the realities of life. It was the fans out front who were still ignorant of the truth.

Ric's actions calmed me down a little and I gave a sigh; stood up to let some of the blood flow back into my legs and pushed my way to a slightly better position so I could see more of the stage. From my new vantage point I had a clear view across the front and to the other side; more fans were gathered; road crew and people filming. Gus wandered around the space; his bass low slung around his hips whilst Sandy pounded away on the drums.

And suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere there was a commotion on the other side; a man ran onto stage from the other side; closely followed by a security guard. I couldn't see him properly but he looked older; greying hair and bald on top; his jeans hung loose around his waist; his t-shirt washed out. An ageing rocker probably, but not the sort of person you expected to see storm the stage; desperate to be with the group. He reached Phantom first throwing his arms around the lead singer and pushing him over so that they both fell to the ground locked in an uncomfortable embrace.

The security guard reached them a second later; pulling the errant fan off towing him off stage the same time and Jim leant down to help his friend up. Except Phantom faltered as he tried to stand, held a hand to his stomach before lifting it and gazing with shock at the blood that stained his fingers; a bewildered look on his face before his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped back down onto the black dirty floor. The drumbeat and bass has stopped and Sandy and Angus joined Jim in a huddle as I raced onto stage; a woman screeching his name out," Ric – Ric – Ric, shit what has happened – Riiiicccc!" I fell to my knees pressed my hands to his abdomen flinching and swaying as they came away covered in blood; feeling Gus pull me to my feet and realised it was me yelling his name; high pitched with fear. He had been stabbed – the crazed fan catching him in the gut with a knife. I looked around widely for someone to help, paramedics; security; police.

They were there in seconds' although it felt like hours gently taking me aside; leaving me with Gus to drink sweet hot tea as they erected a screen separating the sight of the injured man from the hoards of fans out front, most of who had been stunned into silence. I watched in mute agony as they stemmed the flow of blood, gave him oxygen and then when it was deemed safe had him flown off in the air ambulance to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, leaving the rest of us to follow in cars, not knowing if he would even survive the journey.

* * *

Hospital waiting rooms were dire places. Even though they tried to give them some degree of comfort there was always the same; out of date magazine; scuffed carpet and badly framed prints hanging on the wall. People didn't wait in here for good news, it was not where the happy were corralled, instead the atmosphere reeked of despair, or personal agony.

We sat in there, the rest of the band members and myself waiting; waiting for something – news, information; a diagnosis. The sweet young nurse who had shown us in had not returned and we were left staring at the walls; all of us silent, caught up in our own thoughts. "I didn't seem him," Jim muttered finally; breaking the wall of quiet, making us all look up. "Just noticed this guy rush past me and then the security guard, thought he just pushed Ric over, didn't realise that he; that he..." He trailed off, swallowed hard – probably desperate for a drink right now – I know I was.

"I didn't really seen anything either man," Angus added softly. "The guy was totally crazed. At least the police have him and he will be charged with manslaughter at the very least I guess."

"Manslaughter? Is that it?" I was shocked, unable to believe that such a lenient sentence could be passed for such a crime.

"I don't know Izzy; it's Ric's area of speciality, not mine." I let out a sob at the mention of his name. "Oh god, no don't cry Izzy, please – sorry didn't mean to be so unsubtle," he pleaded. It took great strength of will to brush the tears out of my eyes, straighten up and resume the waiting. I had spoken to Mairi, asked her to look after Lara overnight for me, made the difficult call to his Grandparents and explained what had happened – promised to keep them updated and was now just waiting; waiting for news.

"Fuck it, they haven't told us anything; haven't asked you for any information." Sandy rose and paced the length of the room in three strides and then back again, all of us watching him; surprised at the display from the mild mannered drummer. "They don't even know his name for fuck's sake!" I twisted my lips in a wry manner that under different circumstances might have been called a smile. It was true, as the Paramedics has worked on him they had referred to him by his stage name; obviously getting their information from Pete. Tom, they had yelled. Stay with us Tom, keep breathing Tom. That was the straw I was clutching to, at least he was still breathing.

As if the power of positive thought had worked the door suddenly opened causing us to all look at the nurse who entered, holding a clipboard. She hesitated at the sight of the three large hairy men in front of her; still dressed to go on stage and me, a pale faced pregnant woman with tear stains on her cheeks. "Mrs..." she paused and looked at me with a strange expression. "Mrs Phantom?" Under different circumstances it would have been funny, but the joint expression on all our faces was pained rather then amused.

"Yes," I replied, levering myself to my feet, swaying slightly with exhaustion and a surfeit of emotion.

"Can we just get a few details, um for your husband," she paused and looked at me with worry, gently sitting me down again, taking the chair next to me and running through the spaces on the form, which I replied to with monosyllabic replies, my husband reduced to a series of words. Richard Ian Stewart, born October 12th 1979, married; occupation: singer, medical conditions: none known except for poor eyesight in one eye, blood group: A positive, Next of Kin: Me, followed by his Grandparents. I ran through the form, desperate to know the real truth. What is going on? Will he survive? Where is he? The nurse obviously read the desperation in my eyes.

"I will go and ask the doctors for you," she said. "They will have some more information." I nodded and smiled weakly. "Would you like to watch television whilst you wait? I can get the remote for you," she offered and returned with the device a few minutes later. Jim switched the television on; snarling when he saw it was the evening news.

"Ten o' fucking clock already – we've been here four hours and are none the wiser!" He snarled, going to change the channel, but I paused him with a hand.

"No Jim; wait!" My eyes were glued to the screen as the news reader switched stories, a picture in the corner of the screen showed my husband singing, before the scene switched to a rough filming of the concert, taken from someone's mobile phone. It was grainy, poor quality but enough to make out the figures on stage, Jim playing at the front; Ric standing back in front of the drum riser and then in a flash the figure running on to stage, pushing against him and both of them falling to the ground; before the security guard intervened. The presenter's modulated voice intoned over the top at the shock of the incident, how the man had been taken into custody and how Phantom had been flown to hospital where he was in a stable but critical condition.

"Well at least we have a little more news now then we did," Angus replied with gallows humour; causing the other men to snort. I felt a new source of tears well up as I thought about it. Critical, critical was not good.

It was eleven before we received anymore news. A tired face doctor in scrubs came and took me aside, finally explained the situation. They had carried out a laparotomy and found he had been stabbed in the stomach, the knife also puncturing his liver and small bowel. They had stitched them up and reset the wrist that he had broken as he fell. Now it was just a waiting game, hoping that he would heal and respond, hoping that peritonitis wouldn't set in.

He was in intensive care, heavily sedated against the pain, on a ventilator; tubes and drains seeming to come in and out of his body as blood was put in, fluids drained off; it was a frightening sight – to see him so helpless, so without control. The nurse handed me some of his personal effects in a bag, wedding ring; which I slipped onto my thumb; his bracelet that I had given him several years ago now joined mine on my wrist, the rest of his things bundled up under my arm. And so finally, eight hours after I had entered the hospital I kissed my husband on his forehead and allowed myself to be taken home.


	57. Chapter 57

**Merry Christmas - sorry for the delay in posting! Pips**

Chapter 57

"We thank you for your continuing support, but kindly ask that you respect our privacy and allow the staff of the hospital to continue with their vital work, caring for all patients. We also respectfully request that you do not send anymore flowers or gifts. If you do wish to show your support, may we suggest that you make a donation to the Scottish Air Ambulance, without whose support and vital help; the situation would be much worse. Many thanks."

I stood off to one side, head bowed, my hair tamed into a neat French pleat, a stylish wrap dress highlighting my pregnancy coupled with neat stack heels. Very much the look of a politician's wife, unremarkable, supportive but judged not to draw attention. Which is very much what I wanted at the moment because attention was being concentrated on me; column inches dedicated to my movements; behaviour and what I wore and most importantly what I said. Sometimes it was very hard not to round on the reporters who hovered by the front entrance to the hospital, spew venom at them for their intrusive presence, more so when they tried to follow me on the hour drive home.

I became more and more aware of how much effort Ric had put into keeping our relationship low profile; keeping me out of the limelight. I had now unfortunately been thrust into it, the dreadful situation of five days ago pushing me forward to centre stage – not a place I was comfortable with.

I was surprised and more then a little humbled by the intensity and support of the fan base that emerged with Ric's accident. Only a few hours after he was admitted to hospital they were there in their hundreds, holding a vigil; waiting for news. Flowers, balloons and gifts streamed in through the doors so that I ended up arranging for them to be sent to other wards in the hospital. Of course there were a few making a nuisance, trying to get admitted, pretending to be family so they could witness their idol; determinedly dodging the hospital security.

And so with at their request I released a statement, hoping to dispel some of the rumour and stop the constant scrutiny. Tatiana flew up to support me and as Cluinn's account manager, I handed over the responsibility for reading it to her – doubting very much if I could keep my voice from trembling, or tears running down my face.

The truth of the situation was vastly different from the announcement released to the press, on the Cluinn website and read out at the main entrance to the hospital where a crowd had gathered. Instead; he was still in Intensive Care, his condition downgraded from critical to severe but stable. Once again breathing for himself, he was off a ventilator but heavily sedated and connected to a variety of tubes and drains that it was hard to know where to touch him, what to speak about or say.

His Grandmother and I took it in turns to spend a couple of hours by his side each day, supporting each other as we sat by his bedside. I knew Brian found it hard to be there, choosing instead to stay with Lara and Mairi, trying to help us in other ways. We all felt blinded by the truth of the situation and it severity, that for the second time; Richard was battling for his life. We were still waiting for the police to let us know what their investigations had discovered. They had the culprit in custody, but had still not told us the full facts behind it, possibly waiting for the right moment.

The statement read; the facts that we wanted to be released spoken, we turned as a unit; Tatiana, the rest of the band and I and filed back to the relative's room attached to the ICU. It seemed to be the place I spent so many of my hours. Only one person was allowed to visit Ric at a time and whilst his Grandmother and I spent the most hours by his side; the other boys each took a shift, sitting by his bedside for a portion of the day, keeping up a constant stream of one-sided conversation, which wasn't easy. However the nurses encouraged it; saying he could hear us, that it would be worth the effort, however mundane the news.

As also encouraged I kept a brief diary of what was going on in the world. All of Cluinn's album's were climbing up through the charts; buoyed up by the huge amounts of publicity that were taking place and currently all occupied top twenty positions. Tatiana was inundated with requests to write the definitive biography and already there were networks insensitive enough to pitch ideas for a movie or television show.

The hardest bit about the whole incident had been how facts about his life had come to the fore. Suddenly Cluinn was front page news and the few music journalists that had always given them column inches were replaced with a new breed of paparazzi. Tenfold worse in their determination to get a story they were able to sift and sort the facts surrounding Phantom and dredge up the truth. 'Phantom Unmasked' screamed several headlines two days after his accident.

Suddenly all the people who had even a passing acquaintance with Ric from his university days were willing to talk; the kid in the mask became everyone's old best friend, despite the band members remaining firmly silent. Obviously money exchanged hands in order to oil the wheels of memory, for it was soon widely written that Richard had been an undergraduate of music and then law at Edinburgh; that he had come from the Drumchapel council estate in Glasgow and was raised by his Grandparents after the death of his mother. That he had a disfiguring scar on his face and it was the reason why he tended to wear a mask was also written about. The only thing that remained unknown was how he came to have such an injury.

The most recent batch of newspapers were sitting on the coffee table as we entered the room and I cast them a disdainful glance, noting with a thankful sigh that at least my husband was no longer front page news. "I don't want to look at this crap," I growled waving them away with my hand, noticing that Sandy picked them up as a pile; opened up the door and dumped them outside before shutting it succinctly. His action must have annoyed someone for only a few minutes later there was a knock at the door. I immediately jumped to standing, my bodyguards of Angus, Sandy and Jim surrounding me as the barrier opened.

Almost hesitantly the man crossed the threshold and stopped, casting a glance over me which I returned with a glare. "Hello Isabella." Was his opening gambit which I returned with a cool nod.

"What are you doing up here?" It was a rude retort, lacking any of the poise or graciousness I tried to at least pretend I had, but this was one of the very last men I wished to see. In fact I was secretly shocked that he had made the trip so far north.

"I came as soon as I could after hearing the news. How is he?"

"Not so good Devlin, thank you for asking." I kept my reply brief; didn't invite him to sit down but simply glared back, useful that for once I could look a man almost in the eye. My silent men sat down as they saw that despite the painful conversation Devlin and I were not about to exchange blows, sending nods and grunted greetings his way.

"And how are you?" The question was kind and caring, momentarily wrong footing me.

"How do you bloody well think?" I was shaking with emotion; threatening to overwhelm me; fighting back the tears. I didn't like this man, didn't want him here to witness the pain that I was going through – and yet – and yet I was moved by the effort he had put in.

"I saw the photographs the other day – can't believe they tried to follow you home?" He put a conciliatory hand on my arm and I stared down at it, managing to resist the urge to shake it off.

"Yeah well, anything is feasible as long it create sales, isn't it Devlin? The guys here tell me all the albums are climbing hard, even the 'Fifth Cellar' so don't worry, even when he is unconscious, Richard is still making you money!" My voice was sarcastic, angry, letting all the dislike I had for the man join together with how I felt about the whole situation and blaming him for the current crisis – easy as he was standing in front of me.

"Izzy!" Angus' single word; spoken in a gruff tone made me hesitate, switch my attention to him, see him shaking his head. He was right, Ric would have said the same thing if he had been there – don't rile their boss; not a sensible move.

"Isabella, it's not just about sales and money. This is about crowd control and policing, the safety of the band – it could have been anyone of you," he focused his attention on the rest of the band, "Tom just happened to be the unlucky one." I snorted and sat down, watching as Devlin chose a chair on the other side of the small room before retorting.

"Unlucky! He had a perforated bowel and liver, a broken wrist and haemorrhaged on the operating table, which bit of that is the most unlucky?" I threw the question back at him before adding. "And at least have the decency to call him by his real name as everyone else is now doing. The person on that ward is Richard Stewart, my husband, not some marketing idea you created." He at least had the sense to blush.

"I'm sorry Mrs Stewart," the words were said quietly. "Look, I didn't come up here to argue with you Isabella; I came to see if you were all right and if there was anything we, the record company could do for you? Do you feel as if you need extra help in the house, security, anything?" I glanced over at the other men in the room, a gathered collective of hair and muscle; my own personal security team. "The boys can't stay here forever," he added. "And who knows how long Richard will be in hospital."

I blanched at the thought. I could cope with the situation now; just about manage to get through this with the support of Jim, Angus and Sandy – for at least having them there meant I could share some of the pain. The thought that they might have to leave, get on with their own lives... "No", I shook my head. "Thank you for the offer though, but I just need to get through this one step at a time and Richard won't be news forever." The least I could do was mirror his polite tone. "It is no longer front page at least." I hefted a sigh before adding. "Now, as you've come all this way; would you like to see him?"

I was slightly surprised when he agreed even more so when this man who I thought was the epitome of shallow and sales driven seemed unperturbed by the reality of the ICU; the sight of the lead singer of one of his most popular signings lying motionless in bed. Instead he sat down, picked up the dead hand with the IV drip going in and starting chatting as if he were having a fully responsive conversation. I hesitated slightly before turning on my heel and leaving, not wishing to clutter up the space; unable to sit and watch Devlin talk away.

I went back to that dreadful room, now empty; the boys leaving me to my own devices, slumping in a chair as I put my face in my hands desperately wanting to weep and cry; gnash my teeth and scream. But I couldn't; something in me wouldn't let go and instead just sat there; despair creeping up on me as inside I screamed at the injustice of the way of the world. "Let it out lassie," a soft hand stroked my hair and I lifted my head to see my Grandmother-in-law sitting next to me, a cup of the foul vending machine coffee in one hand and the other softly stroking my hair. "It's not weak to cry, it helps you know."

"I can't; I mustn't." I sniffed slightly; determined to remain strong. "I don't want Lara to know anything is wrong; she just thinks Ric has gone away again. 'Da singing?' she keeps saying to me." My voice cracked slightly as I repeated my daughter's words the innocence of them bringing the incident home. "Who would do such a thing Elsie? Who has such little regard for human life; who believed that their actions would somehow fix the word or make it a better place by trying to hurt and kill someone?"

"I don't know _gaol_," she replied softly, her hand once again stroking my hair softly. Although upset I heard her Gaelic endearment and a slight smile crept on to my face. It proved if nothing else that at least I was as much a member of her family as her Grandson. "But, the police are finally ready to speak to us and let us know the verdict of their investigation, which is why I came to find you? Is anyone in with Richard at the moment? Angus or James?" Another irreverent smile briefly stretched my lips – she never referred to the other members of the band by anything other then their full names.

"No, Devlin Summers is in with him at the moment."

"Well" she started, although it came out as broad 'wheell' and her neatly plucked white eyebrows shot upwards. "I never expected that slimy Sassenach to journey up here – proves that miracles can happen aye?" This time the slightest noise that could have possibly been classified as a giggle escaped me. She smiled approvingly. "That right lassie; you laugh – it will do you good and god knows it may be difficult to find things to laugh about in the weeks to come. Now, shall we invite these police inspectors in and hear what they have to say?" I nodded, at least feeling as if I could struggle on for a little longer.

Yet that small seed of positivity was soon crushed beneath my heel as Detective Inspector Robertson and his female counterpart Inspector Scott came and sat uncomfortably across the room from us; their faces nervous with embarrassment and regret. I had been interviewed by them a few days earlier; riled by their boorish questions whilst my husband lay critically ill in hospital.

And yet as they shifted underneath the female regard we trained on them I felt a prickle of undiluted fear run down my spine; there was something in the way they looked at us that made me dread the worst. "Mrs Stewart," Robertson asked, causing both Elsie and I to answer with a snapped 'yes' at the same time. A brief uncomfortable smile flickered across his face before he made it clear that he was speaking to Richard's Grandmother. "Are you aware of the existence of Peter McKenzie, formerly of fifty eight Dalsetter Place?" I watched as the woman I had grown to love inhaled sharply, her face going pale. She replied with a wordless nod and I grasped her hand in solidarity. "And are you aware that he was currently released on parole for the past two months?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, I thought he was serving a life sentence?" Her normally authoritative voice suddenly sounded weak and tremulous and I shot her a questioning glance that she did not return.

"He was released on life licence recently, having satisfied the parole board with his behaviour. Unfortunately we had no idea that he carried the vendetta he did. Obviously he had gone straight back into custody after this recent breach of his parole." There was a slight snort from Elsie and I frowned, obviously Peter McKenzie was the man responsible for Richard's stabbing.

"Are you telling me that the man who stabbed my husband had served time for a previous conviction?" I was shocked at the sound of my voice, hard, icy; a light Scottish tint on the edge of the words, obviously picked up in the past year and a half I had lived in this country. The younger female office bit her lip – obviously there was more to this situation then I understood.

"Ma'am; Peter McKenzie was sent down for the murder of Mrs McKenzie and her unborn child and the attempted murder of your husband eleven years ago," Inspector Scott explained, her tone sympathetic. I gasped; clasping my hands over my mouth to stifle the scream that had wedged itself in my throat. The man that had run on stage with a knife was Ric's stepfather; obviously intending to finish the job he had not managed over a decade ago. I felt fear creep down my body running from the top of my head; freezing my neck and spine as it worked its way into my fingers and toes so that I sat there like a lifeless mannequin, unable to move or respond. I felt Elsie's small hand reach over and her fingers curled around mine as we sat there, shock erasing any response.

"The thing we need to know Mrs Stewart," Detective Inspector Robertson continued blithely; "was if your husband had any contact with Mr McKenzie the past few years or not. We are trying to establish if this event was premeditated over a period of time; years possibly and the parole board was at fault for ever releasing him; or," he heaved a sigh," if this was a recent situation caused by the fact that your husband has been in the journalistic press and is a well known figure!"

"Phantom is well known; not Richard Stewart," I automatically argued back.

"Exactly Mrs Stewart; which is why we were wondering if your husband had any contact; letters or possibly attempted visits? How did McKenzie know that um Phantom was his err - stepson, for want of a better word?"

"So you are just trying to cover up the incompetence of the Parole Board are you now Detective?" Elsie Stewart's voice was hard and sharp. "Trying to find some other motivation for the attack other then the fact that Peter McKenzie is a dangerous man with a grudge and should have been locked up for life as he was convicted and the key thrown away. No, my Grandson would not have been in contact with Mr McKenzie that much I can guarantee. He lives with a reminder of his presence every day, why would he wish to torture himself anymore?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the younger woman and I narrowed my eyes at her slightly, realising that she must have been caught up in the marketing craze that had surrounded my husband, transformed him into Phantom – a drive that had now been destroyed with the insensitivity of the media. "As you insist, but could we request that our officers take a look through any personal correspondence to see if there were any attempts at contact? Does your husband have paperwork or an email address that we may review?" The request was pressed and I feared as Elsie had mentioned they were as much desperately looking for an excuse for the laxness in releasing this criminal as any motivation for the crime – that had been decided the first time around.

"If you must Detective, he had a study at home, his computer is there; although I ask that it is not removed from the premises, or copies of the hard drive taken – as I am sure you are aware it contains sensitive and private information for both him and his work."

There was little else that could be said after that. The bald facts almost impossible to digest so that the police officers left us sitting in that horrid little room, stunned into silence. Despite Elsie's fighting words only an hour earlier, she seemed to have aged years in sixty minutes, her back sagging; her smooth skin wrinkling. That man had killed her daughter and unborn Grandchild; maimed her Grandson and his actions had forced the removal of her third relation – his anger was far reaching and after all this time it had come back again. If I was reeling under the news she had every right to be stunned forever.

"Elsie?" My voice was weak, full of fear – not so much of this terrible man for he was safely behind bars, but instead for my family; for their peace of mind and ability to carry on.

"Aye _gaol_?" The words were muttered before she sighed and concentrated on me. "Oh Izzy, I am sorry love – it's a shock; such a shock!"

"I understand Elsie, I am bowled over that, that he was even released and now they are trying to insinuate that possibly Ric aggravated; goaded him – it can't have been true – I mean he has been on tour for the past six months; there is no way he would have even been able to contact him!" My voice rose as I let my emotions rise, the ones I had been sitting on for so long. Finally, after five days of holding them in the tears started to flow. I flung myself into my Grandmother-in-law's arms and starting sobbing, feeling her tears wet my shoulder as both of us cried in each other's embrace.

* * *

In a strange sort of way it was refreshing to know the truth; to cry and be comforted. Even though reality was horrific; even though the police did not find a scrap of anything to give a motive to McKenzie's actions when they went through Richard's personal material at least I felt that I had the ability to look towards the future.

He was getting better; not obviously, in fact the daily report hardly changed but gradually as the days stretched into a week and this became two, the ventilator was removed; the drips reduced and one day I walked into the ICU and saw the bed he had laid in was empty. I spun around on the spot panic etched on to my features; fearing the worst before I heard my voice being quietly called from the other side of the room. "Izzy, he's over here." I looked over and saw Jim lounging in the doorway to one of the private rooms.

"Jim?" I rushed over and flung myself at him accepting the embrace that he gave. Jim and I were not normally so tactile. Our relationship friendly enough on the outside had never truly recovered from the joint blows of his actions against Ric with the impact it had on my life; coupled with his addictive behaviour. Even though he was now dry, living the good life of the married man; due to be a father in a matter of days, I was still slightly wary of his behaviour, not sure how he might be from one day to the next.

And yet he was the one spending all the spare hours by his friend's side. It wasn't Angus who sat there for hours late into the night when Elsie and I had to go home to the family left behind; instead Jim would sit there chatting away about the past, talking about music; even singing to the still figure on the bed. The ties of friendship were stronger then ever and he was the most faithful of all the band mates.

"They moved him late yesterday after you went home; thought he was doing really well," Jim explained with a slight lift of one shoulder. "He's still's sedated, but they say he's showing signs of agitation which means he is becoming more aware – which can only be a good thing; right?"

"Yeah, I guess so." I paused. "Have you been here long then Jim?"

"No, but Laney is in for a final scan, they want to see how Theo is lying and she is possibly having a stretch and sweep; so I thought I would pop down here and see how Ric was doing." He shrugged as if his actions were of no consequence, but I knew how difficult it was; understood how he was torn between being with his wife or by his best friend's bedside.

"Thank you Jim," I said with quiet heartfelt words. "Your support means a lot to me and to Ric, even if he can't say it."

"He would tell me to stop being so selfish and get back to my wife's side probably." I let out a slight laugh, the words as accurate as the man who lay still and silent behind him had spoken them.

"Yeah probably." I glanced over his shoulder and saw there was a guitar propped up against the side of the uncomfortable visitor's chair. "Have you been playing music to him?"

"Huh?" Jim looked over his shoulder. "It's his Gibb, I rescued it from the stage after – well when... It was covered with blood and the strings were broken, but amazingly enough it was in one piece and I have been cleaning it up and fixing it at home – thought I would bring it in as like good luck or something." He looked at me, worry etching his face. "I checked with the nurses, they said it was okay!"

"That's really kind!" I was taken aback by the generosity of the gesture, the inherent kindness – he was a true friend; he cared. Possibly without all the drugs and alcohol clouding his system he was coming around; once again able to be the man he was bought up as. I placed a hand on his arm sweeping him with a look at the same time as I noticed that like the rest of the boys he was dressed down, trying not to attract attention.

Ric was no longer front page news; his recovery boring and old hat now and the media storm had drifted away to bigger and more sensational story generating events. Yet all of us still kept our guard up, didn't advertise our presence in and around the hospital. Even Jim, who usually wore a selection of slobbish black clothing, was looking more soberly dressed; preppy even with his blue jeans, checked shirt and sweater. This was Lord James, not the lead guitarist of Cluinn. "I really appreciate all you've done, I really do. But I agree with Ric, get your arse back to your wife – okay?" He gave a laugh.

"As you both demand. I don't know if I will be around the next few days, depends if this procedure works – if Theo decides to put in an appearance or not!" He voluntarily wrapped his arms around me again. "Keep going Izzy; he was there for me and we need to be there for him." And with those encouraging words echoing in my ears, he turned and left.

I drifted over to my husband's bedside and looked down at him. His eyes closed, faced set in a grim line with the slash across his cheek standing out against the paleness of his face. The nurses had taught me how to shave him and clean his teeth and I religiously attended to this every day, although there was little I could do with his long hair. Ignored during the months of touring it was now even more neglected and although I brushed it out every day, I simply tied it to one side of his head in a ponytail, until he could sit up there was little that could be done to it. His arms lay limp by his side, IV tubes going into his hand and neck, fluids feeding him and drugs keeping the pain at bay; a feeding tube going up his nose.

I picked up his spare hand, stroking it gently – talking in soft soothing tones. "Hey, it's me. Glad to see you have a new room. Lara drew you a picture and I am going to hang it on the noticeboard so you can look at it. Jim's just come down; he's left you your Gib. I would play it for you, but as you know, can't get a note that doesn't sound like nails on a blackboard." And so I continued with stupid mindless chatter for five minutes. It was getting more and more difficult with every passing day, talking to a figure prone in bed, getting no response at all. He had now been like this for over three weeks – three exceedingly long weeks.

"Please Richard," I found myself begging, my voice clogged with tears, when only seconds ago I had been prattling on about trying to find clothes that fitted our long legged daughter. You didn't have to do more then scratch my surface to release all the emotion. "Please darling, wake up now, just wake up." There was no response from the figure on the bed – the machines still showed a steady heartbeat, a strong enough pulse. "Damn you, wake up – I can't keep doing this on my own." The tears overflowed running down my cheeks and I brushed them away; suddenly feeling ashamed. What was the good of crying and pleading? I had been here for the past three weeks – I knew the drill. But I had hoped for a response, maybe the fact that he was off the ventilator, moved to a private room had let false hope flare. I placed my head next to his on the pillow, leaning over in an uncomfortable position, my growing bump in the way.

"_I'm miles from where you are_

_I lay down on the cold ground_" I sung, my voice thick with emotion.

"_And I, I pray that something picks me up_

_And sets me down in your warm arms_."

The words came from the song we had sung as a duet, taken from his 'Fifth Cellar' album. It had been the song he had composed at the piano nearly a year ago. My gaze swept his face wishing and praying for some small gesture or twitch. It remained impassively still, as if it had been carved in marble.

"_And after I had travelled so far_

_We set the fire to the third bar_

_We'd share each other like an island_

_And exhausted close our eyelids_

_And dreaming, pick up from_

_The last place we left off_

_Your soft skin is weeping_

_A joy you can't keep in.."_

My voice cracked as I sung, the words coming out as a fragmented croak, more then the actual tune, stumbling over the emotion and meaning of the words. I briefly closed my eyes and sighed, trying to regain my equilibrium. There was no point in crying continuously; I had learnt that the only thing I achieved from it was a sore throat and a blocked nose.

It was the beeping of an alarm that made me look up. The infernal machines spent their lives flashing, wailing and beeping out a series of warnings and codes, informing the dedicated nurses of any slight change in their patients. My eyes flicked to the monitor on the other side of Richard's hospital bed where a red light flickered incessantly. And then my stare dropped to my husband's face and the blue eyes that stared up at the ceiling in a slightly blank gaze, his forehead drawn down in confusion.

* * *

I had been warned that when a patient left the ICU was really the start of the difficulties for the family. Despite the never ending tension and waiting, at least they were being cared for – all their needs met by the nursing staff. A week after he opened his eyes, Richard was transferred down to the private ward, his nursing requiring less dedicated attention now that he was awake.

It wasn't an easy transfer for although my husband was more aware then he had been since the incident; I did not have him fully back. The emaciated figure was confused, depressed and still in pain. He was reluctant to leave the highly skilled care of the ICU and go onto a ward, however private it was. He experienced nightmares and flashbacks, confusing the events on stage with earlier occurrences and sometimes, case studies from his solicitor training.

He accepted the dreadful news of his perpetrator once again being his stepfather with a nod of his head and a softly muttered oath, turning his head aside when I tried to explain in more detail, waving me away with few words.

It had been a month since his accident and whilst his physical wounds had started to heal, his extend stay in hospital had made his muscles weak; his mind confused and his appetite disappear. The doctors and nurses continually reassured me that this was normal and it would all come right, fix itself, but at thirty-two weeks pregnant, I was finding it hard to cope. For over a month now I had made the two hourly round trip to the hospital every day, sometimes for an hour, often for longer. Lara was thankfully as happy to spend time with Mairi as she was with me; for I had been unable to take her into the ICU, her young age making her at great risk of introducing infection.

But now that her Father was awake and at least recognising people, I decided to take her in, hoping that the cheeriness of a two year old might help lift his spirits slightly. She was a bubbly little girl, outwardly content and cheery. Use to her father being away for tours and events, his absence the past month hadn't bothered her beyond the fact that he must be singing again. As long as she didn't see me crying, she did not seem too perturbed.

And so sitting her on my hip, a backpack over my shoulder containing all the essentials I weaved my way through the maze of corridors and staircases around the hospital. She rested her head on my shoulder slightly sleepy having napped in the car on the way over. It was quite a distance and my back began to ache with the combined weight of carrying a two year old and my advanced state of pregnancy. I finally reached his room and tapped lightly on the door before entering. He was propped up in bed, eyes slightly closed but his head turned in the direction of the television on the wall, where some banal morning programme played.

"Hey," I said as we came in, pausing as I watched him open his eyes and move his head to look at me.

"Izzy," the voice was low and quiet; little emotion shown at my presence. There was a slight pause as he took in the child I held in my arms. She had woken up and was looking all around her in confusion before her eyes alighted on her other parent.

"Da!" Her cry came out with a squeal of delight and she wriggled out of my arms so I had to put her down, unable to contain her movement. She ran over to the side of the bed and climbed on the chair, leaning on the seat.

"Hi Sweetheart," he moved his thin left arm and awkwardly rumpled her curly red locks; his right still encased in a cast. In turn she leant on the mattress and kissed his forehead.

"Daddy sick," she stated kneeling back and looking exceedingly pleased with herself; thankfully not noticing the tears that ran out of her Father's eyes. I subtly handed him a tissue so he could reach up and wipe them, switching the television to a children's programme to distract our daughter briefly.

"How are you feeling today?" My glance took in the barely touched tray of food on the table. "Ric, you've got to eat or you won't have any strength?"

"It all tastes disgusting, like eating cardboard." His voice was dull and he closed his eyes again with a hefted sigh. "The nurses say I will recover my appetite, but I guess it will be a while." He shifted his gaze listlessly to his daughter who had curled herself up in the chair, her gaze rapt with concentration on the television. "Is it okay to bring her in here?"

"Of course, I checked with the nurses; they encouraged it. She wants to do some colouring with you!" He snorted slightly at the thought and the sound made me smile briefly for it was more in line with my husband. "And here you go; I bought you some quiche from home that I made yesterday." I removed the box from the backpack and trying to keep jolly and positive laid it out on the table pulling it over to him and setting it up. Lara briefly looked up and saw what I was doing, taking interest in the food. She loved it when I cooked, always wanting to help me in the kitchen. She left her programme and once again knelt in the chair, balancing against the wheeled table a cheeky grin on her face.

Faced with both mine and his daughter's scrutiny, Ric gave a sigh and reached down picking up a slice and munching on it with a martyred air, swallowing before a brief smile played on his lips.

"Nice?" I asked as innocently as I could.

"Better then the muck they serve in here, at least it tastes of something."

"I've probably put far too much salt in it then," I admitted. "But I decided taste was more important at the moment." I watched as he reached for a second slice, glad that he was at least eating, even if it was for show rather then genuine hunger. Obviously the presence of his daughter meant, as I had hoped, that he was unwilling to let the side down.

We stayed for two hours, which was about the length of time viable for a decent conversation before he became crabby and tired. He seemed happier with Lara around sitting and happily colouring in with her, my heart welling at the sight of Father and daughter so alike in their expressions concentrating hard on making sure the pictures in the book were exactly the right lurid shade of pink, Ric nearly as inaccurate with his colouring as Lara, unable to comfortably hold the pen in his left hand.

He didn't make much conversation with me, didn't ask after his unborn child beyond the odd glance at my large bulge; his mind far too taken up with his own depression and suffering. I accepted it without comment, hoping that this was simply part of the recovery process as the doctors claimed and the anti-depressants he had been prescribed would soon help him.

And as another week crawled by, more mileage was put on my faithful 4x4 (vital in the winter where we lived) and another creep forward was made. Ric was made to get out of bed, I managed to cut his hair and he took his first tentative steps, firmly gripped by two nurses. It was hard to believe that this man used to run around vast stages, singing and playing for hours on end; jogging and lifting weights.

He had lost over two and a half stone in weight; mainly as his muscles wasted - his hips bones jutted out nastily against the hollows of his pelvis, his ribs raised in his chest and his eyes hollows, the skin tightly drawn over the cheekbones of his face. It didn't suit him, he did not have excess body mass that he could easily loose and instead looked emaciated, like the pictures of concentration camp prisoners.

His appetite started to increase although vastly reduced from the amounts he used to eat, his portions about the same size as his daughter. The drugs also started to kick in and his sleep improved as the nightmares and flash backs started to ease. He had been on the ward for two weeks before he turned and asked after my health and our baby, growing in my stomach.

"Is everything going okay with the baby Izzy?" he said after I had breathlessly told him all about the adventures of baby Theo, a whole week and a half old. It seemed that Alanya wasn't taking to motherhood quite as easily as she had hoped and it was in fact Jim who was much more natural with their child, obviously used to the floods of nieces and nephews who passed through his childhood home.

"What?" I looked down at my stomach, reaching that stage where it was so large and swollen that it looked comical. At this stage with Lara I had been confined to bed for nearly three months. Instead with this pregnancy, at thirty-four weeks I was still up and about, paying little attention to my own needs beyond the most perfunctory. I just wanted the baby out, the pregnancy over with – to sleep properly again at night and to stop needing to stop at every bathroom. "Well, it is kicking my bladder at the moment, so I need the loo every second," I hesitated and glanced at my husband. He hadn't been catheterised for nearly two weeks now, but I didn't want to draw attention to this. I needn't have feared, Ric never referred to any of the operations, scans or procedures he had been through – complaining wasn't in him. The only trouble was that he therefore tended to internalise his feelings and this is what had been eating away at him.

"I wish you would find out what it is." He put a hand out and rested it on my bump, feeling for the child moving inside me. Secretly I was thrilled; it was the first move he had made that acknowledged that it was our child growing in my stomach, that I was even pregnant since his accident.

"Well, actually, I was wondering if you felt like taking a walk with me," I demurred slightly, coquettishly looking up at him through my eyelashes like an eighteenth century debutante trying to lure her lover away for a stolen kiss.

"A walk?" His gaze skittishly moved across the room to rest on the crutch he had been lent to help move around. Still in a degree of pain and having been in bed for so long he found walking exhausting and something to lean on (besides the nurse or me) was a great help, even though he mainly use it to get from bed to bathroom and back again.

"I have a scan downstairs in about – oh half an hour and we can find out then, if you want to come. I won't ask unless you are there though."

"Good old fashioned blackmail hey Izzy?" Even though the words were harsh I rejoiced in them, for the tone was much more that of the man I loved, bantering, teasing, trying to rile me and get me to rise.

"If you want to call it then you can. I simply refer to it as giving you the opportunity to take an active interest in your child. Can I persuade you?" He nearly managed to dampen down the panic that flashed through his eyes, but he was out of practice with raising his mask of blankness and I had spent so many hours simply looking at him that I knew every inch of his face. "I could wheel you down if you'd rather?" I let the slight taunt hang in the air, hoping that he would rise; that he was feeling well enough to have some pride.

"How far is it?"

"Well, three floors down, but only a corridor along, so not that far in real terms." He puffed his cheeks out, momentarily looking less wasted and I was reminded of a long time ago when I forced a deal out of him that he didn't want to accept.

"Will there be, there won't be any um press hanging around will there?" I shook my head in the negative realising that he was grasping at every straw for me to give in and say he didn't have to accompany me.

"No Ric, they moved onto bigger and more sensational stories weeks ago. You've not been of interest for the past – oh month I would say. And darling, they know everything anyway – know that you are Phantom; know about the scar on your cheek and know that your mother is dead. You don't need to go around hiding your face anymore." I ran a gentle hand over one bony cheek. "So please come with me – I will protect you if they appear with their bows and arrows – metaphorically speaking of course." He nodded and with immense effort pushed himself to standing; swaying slightly, his thin skinny legs sticking out the end of his pyjama pants. They had removed the PCA drip the day before and there was a plaster on his free hand. With a smile I helped him into his dressing gown and handed him the crutch. He almost hide the slight wince and biting of his lip as he moved out of the door like an old man.

The area was not too busy, peaceful as it was the private ward but once through the doors we were into the hustle and bustle of the busy city hospital. People everywhere, although for the most part they took no notice of us, just another couple out for a perambulation around the floors. There was only one young man that started when he saw us; his mouth opening wide as Ric shuffled past, looking nothing like the demi-god who had ruled the stage at so many concerts. I shot him a look, glad that Ric didn't see; frowning at him as he half rose from the chair he had been sitting in, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes, looking very much as if he wished to say something.

I was glad that I had left a whole half an hour to go the short distance, for it took us every minute, stopping to let my husband catch his breath pretending to admire the fine view over Edinburgh from the windows. He must have felt vastly out of place once in the maternity unit, happy couples and pregnant women sitting reading tatty dated copies of 'Mother and Baby'; no doubt dreaming of their perfect child. "You can tell the first time mother's," I whispered to my husband as we sat there.

"Yeah how?"

"They are the ones pulling a face at every kick and making huge lists about what they need to buy for their child and waiting impatiently to see someone. The second and third time mothers just relish sitting down for a bit." He laughed slightly at my summation and I reached out and brushed his hair behind his ear. My hairdressing skills had been basic and I had literally loped off the excess length so it once again hung just to the base of his neck, but at least he looked more like the man I knew and loved.

We didn't have to wait long before we were shown in and I was lying on the couch, my bump exposed in the dim light of the room. I gave a slight gasp as the gel was spread over my stomach, but was reassured as I felt my husband wrap his hand around mine; squeezing my fingers. The grainy picture came on screen and I gasped as the clear features of our child's face appeared, nose; eyes, a thumb in its mouth.

"Oh my god," I heard my husband murmur, his grip involuntarily tightening on mine and I realised that this was the first time he had seen a scan; got to view any of his children growing inside me.

"Looking healthy and lying well, head's in position;" the radiographer spoke, briefly taking measurements. "Seems to be a good size, you might not reach forty weeks as you are multipara and the head already looks engaged." He paused and in the dim light smiled at us. "Experiencing Braxton-Hicks?" I nodded and glanced over at my husband who was staring at the screen in wonder.

"Um, are you able to tell us what sex the child is; we never asked before now?" He gave a slight laugh and moved the scanner so that the face disappeared and we trailed down our child's body.

"Girl," he said succinctly, the picture coming to rest on the anatomy, quite clearly pictured on the grainy screen. I bite my lip and glanced over at Ric who shot a look at me, joy and panic clearly mingled.

"So we don't have to buy anymore clothes!" I addressed my husband, trying to get him to smile, except he simply looked stunned, amazed at what he saw. He was silent on the walk back up to his ward as well and I could tell that he was tired; although for the first time he was trying hard not to show it, instead solicitously walking with me our arms entwined, although he was leaning quite heavily on the solo crutch.

We escorted each other back through the doors to the private wing and as I passed through I glanced at the seating by the side, recoiling slightly when I noticed the same teenager was sitting there; shuffling nervously around – obviously hoping to get another glimpse of his fallen idol. This time I shot him a look with venom, clearly telling him not to approach.

My stay was short lived after that, the walk downstairs tiring my husband who was still weak. The doctors say it would take a month for every week that he was in bed – so far that was five and I gave an internal grimace at the thought that it would be nearly half a year until my husband was fully restored to me. I didn't even want to dwell on the fact that we were due to have a baby in six weeks, or less if what the radiographer told me.

I kissed him goodbye, for once actively seeking his lips, letting him give me a trembling lingering kiss, some of the passion that use to fill them spluttering as a tiny spark. Obviously viewing the baby had some positive effect – I just hoped it would be long lived. "Gram is coming this afternoon," I told him as I turned to leave, just catching the smile that flashed across his face. "What?"

"You called her Gram, all the time you have known her and that is the first time you referred to her as such." I paused in my tidying and looked at him.

"Ric, your Grandmother is a tower of strength. I don't know how I would have got through these six weeks without her. She is..." I paused groping for words. "So grounded, so practical and yet knows when the right moment is to say something. She claims that her relationship with God helps her."

"She's given you the God is good lecture hasn't she?"

"I s'pose you could call it that. But, I; well I've started going to church you know; just on Sundays with her and Lara; it's...refreshing." I could feel the heat well up in my cheeks as I spoke and watch as his eyes turned serious, taking me in with an unfathomless gaze. "And I think I want to get Lara christened. Maybe a double go with this one," I stroked my bump. "Guess we had better start thinking up names for her." I found myself rabbiting on, filling in the missing conversation from him as he looked at me.

"That's lovely news Izzy, just promise me you'll wait until I am out, otherwise Gram will have them baptised, confirmed and accepted as nuns before you know it." His mouth rose into a smile and I echoed one back, for it was like the Ric of old, like the man I fell in love with. Maybe Elsie was right, despite all; maybe God was good.

I left with a slightly lighter hearted step after that, buoyed up the positive response from my partner, glad that I could make him happy. To be honest I had only started going to church as something to fill another hour of the aching void of days whilst Ric had been in the ICU and it made Elsie happy, the least I felt I could do for her. But somehow I found a peace being there. Not knowing all the responses and hymns and prayers it was a little awkward at first, but I enjoyed the peace, the formality and Lara was allowed to go out to a children's liturgy so I had a few minutes to totally be alone. It was the most contentment I found in my week.

My head was full of our recent conversation and thoughts of our new baby girl as I pushed my way out through the doors, automatically tracing the path down to the car park, my feet automatically walking the well worn path. "Excuse me, um, Mrs Stewart?" I felt a hand on my arm, a youthful voice spoke my name and I looked up in shock, being so far removed from the present. Except it wasn't a doctor or nurse with their fingers curled around my forearm, but the young man I had seen loitering earlier.

"What do you want?" The words came out harshly, probably more then I had intended because in my mind I had already categorised him as an ardent fan and as far as I was concerned they were the ones to watch and worry about. He hesitated under my regard and I spoke again. "Is this to do with Phantom? What are you after? An autograph, a picture – have you no respect?"

"No, no please," he shrunk back slightly shaking his head and removed his hand. "I am sorry, it was about your um husband," he seemed to be groping for words. "I've been hoping to see him, but on a personal matter, because you see my name is um Cameron." He paused and I hesitated the name ringing a bell although I wasn't sure why. We were in Scotland, Cameron was not an unusual name up here. "Cameron McKenzie," he continued stressing the last name as if it were important. "At least it was on my birth certificate."

"Fascinating," I interjected coldly, surprised at the bitchiness in my voice, protective to the end. "And what do you want my husband to do for you Mr McKenzie?" I tripped up over the surname, speaking the word made me hesitate and I looked at the boy in front of me a bit more clearly, frowning slightly. It hit me that he was looking back at me with Richard's eyes, the same, bright blue with a slight slant to them, piercing in their clarity which was highlighted by a frame of dark eyelashes. "How old are you?" I demanded.

"Um, sixteen." He stammered slightly and I realised that I had mistaken his age because he was tall, towering above me easily pushing six foot, like; like...My mind grouped for the connection before it dropped on me like a bomb.

"Are you trying to tell me that you are Richard's younger brother? The one that was taken away and put into care?" I winced as the words left my mouth, the unsubtle way I had spoken them and was rewarded by a flash of pain crossing the youthful face in front of me.

"My parents fostered me first, when I was four and then they later adopted me." His voiced dropped and he plucked at me sleeve, desperately pulling me to the side of the corridor and not the middle where we stood. I moved with him, suddenly in shock. "I turned sixteen in April and they told me the truth of my adoption and said they would help me trace my birth family if I wanted." He shrugged and the resemblance to his brother was even more startling. "I – I wasn't sure, I mean I don't really remember anything about them, what had happened really. But then there was all this stuff on the news about Phantom and who he was and it sounded like the story that my parents had told me, so we contacted social services for more information, but they take so long." He paused and his voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. "My Mum works here; as a physiotherapist and she heard that um; he was awake, so I've been waiting hoping to speak to you as I knew he was on this ward. I'm sorry, I didn't want to stalk, but I didn't know how else to get in touch!" His voice pleaded, still light and higher, only recently broken. I sighed.

"Look Cameron, I – I want to trust you and your story sounds, well pretty accurate, but I need some proof – I am not going to just let you in and give Ric the shock of a lifetime, he's still in a pretty fragile state." I paused. "And I couldn't let you see him at the moment anyway, not until he is released." Watching his face fall I came up with a suggestion. "Tell you what, can I meet your mother if she works here. I will be back in tomorrow and we can talk it over then?" He agreed and we swapped mobile numbers and I left him standing there, feeling as if I had just been hit over the head. Maybe Elsie was right about this whole religion thing.

A week and a half later I walked with Ric down to the car park. He had been here nearly eight weeks, two months. The man who made slow progress walking down to the car, resting on a crutch his thin hand and arm clutching mine was hardly recognisable as the rock star who had been rushed in. We had attempted to avoid the press, not wanting them to get pictures of my husband shuffling along in baggy tracksuit bottoms (he had lost so much weight they nearly fell off him) and managed to get ourselves released without much ceremony on a Sunday.

There were still lists of things to attend to, vast amounts of medicine to take and appointments with the local GP to keep. But one thing was stressed to the both of us repeatedly – he was lucky to be walking out of here.

He had scrawled his name on the Gibson le Paul guitar that had sat next to his bed for the past few weeks, donating it to the hospital to auction for money, knowing that it's pedigree and ownership gave it value. And then with only a small bag of belongings we wended our way to the car to go home – and start our family life again.

* * *

Song quoted is 'Raise the Fire to the Third Bar' by Coldplay


	58. Chapter 58

**Apologies for the wait. Happy 2011 everyone!**

Chapter 58

He couldn't decide which was worse – pain or boredom. At least with pain you could take a tablet, drift off for a while it would ease, boredom; no there was little cure for that – if it could be fixed with a pill then he would have been an addict to them ages ago. Bored and in pain together, now that was a bit of a shit state.

Ric shifted again, wincing as he felt the pull on his stomach and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Seven o'clock in the morning. He had woken two hours ago and had lain there waiting for the sun to tinge the edge of the loch golden and declare that the day had started. He had huge difficulty sleeping, the bed was too big, too soft and the house silent. He had got use to the high hard mattress at the hospital, the constant noise of the nurses' station and other patients around him, home was different again.

He gave a half hearted yawn, tiredness came and went like the tides, flowing up on him when he least expected it and then when he was in the middle of a really good sleep deserting him so that he would wake suddenly, disorientated and confused. Five o'clock that morning it had been the nightmare of his stepfather that had jolted him out of his rest into a sweaty dark state, shaking and cold; tears running down his face although he didn't remember crying in his dream.

The nightmares plagued him and unless he took sleeping pills that pushed him into a drugged dreamless sleep, he always woke with their intensity. Sometimes he was nineteen again, watching his mother cower in fear, on occasion he was on stage at the same time, the two incidents merging into one. Occasionally McKenzie merged into a client he had interviewed in prison and would sit there gloating over theft or fraud instead of the crimes he had committed. They all left Ric feeling helpless.

He pushed himself to sitting, propped up on the pillows; automatically glancing over at the other side of the bed, not that Izzy was there. She made some excuse about not sleeping well as she was so heavily pregnant, although he was sure the truth was that she didn't want to disturb him. She had moved into the spare room and had been awake in the night as well; he had seen the light on. Hopefully she was asleep now.

For the moment he wasn't in pain- that usually came later as he tried to move, pretended to have some semblance to his day and be a useful member of the household and family once again. Instead he gingerly made his way towards the bathroom, a shower, wash the sweat off his body. He turned it on and stripped off his smelly pyjamas, wet with the terror of his nightmare and turned to get under the powerful spray, pausing as he caught sight of his body in the mirror.

Every since getting home he had avoided reflective surfaces. His appearance came as a huge shock and whilst he didn't classify himself as vain he still recoiled at the sight. After all his image was all over the place, the ownership of the public at large through album covers; posters, calendars, screen savers and reams of photographs all widely available through the internet and he knew that in the majority of them, the formal studio shots especially; he looked good if not handsome. He had spent enough time working out, making sure his body was in shape enough to accept the rigours he demanded of it and the result was that he had been fit and muscular if not the looks of male models – despite posing for a few magazines.

But now! He ignored the water pouring out the shower and turned; looking at his body more closely. His legs had always been gangling and now with the muscles in his calves and thighs wasted they looked like limp balloons hanging off his body. There were hollows around his hip bones, echoed in depressions above his clavicle; by his throat. But it was the sight of his stomach that caused him to gulp and nearly turn away. He use to be fit, have a six pack, now the ribs stood out in his chest and a livid red scar, puckered and slightly twisted ran from under his rib cage to the top of his pelvis; the results of the laparotomy when they had opened him up, tried to assess exactly which organs had been damaged. It caught up through his belly button squashing it down and ended as a swollen red knot.

His right arm, having only recently been released from the cast was narrow and wasted, smaller then his left now, having had no exercise for over six weeks. "Fuck it!" Pointless words really but it was all he could say as he stepped into the warm water. At least that temporarily restored some sanity – he needed it. The anti-depressants helped; at least they levelled down all his depression. However, he sometimes thought he would never feel anything strongly again for, whilst they stop the overwhelming fear and loneliness they also dampened down his other emotions. There was no rage, but passion had disappeared with it; he was able to control tears, but found it hard to smile. It was as if he were nothing more than a metronome, ticking off the minutes and hours.

Washed and cleaned he wrapped a large towel around himself, gingerly patting the skin dry as the nurses had instructed him pulling on jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, sweater and socks. Cold, he was always cold these days. And then with a sigh he moved towards the door, time to go downstairs, no doubt Lara was already up. His legs ached as he moved and he paused, resting against the dresser momentarily to refocus and break the pain barrier. He use to have this problem after an hour's workout, bench pressing increasingly heavy weights – now simply dressing and walking downstairs had him as exhausted.

Time – that was what was needed; what all the doctors, nurses and the physiotherapist; who visited during the week, preached. Time was a great healer and given patience he would recover; would once again be back to his state of physical fitness. The fact that he was active and healthy before; didn't over indulge in either drink or drugs apparently counted for him as well – his body hadn't already been in negative demand before he had his accident.

He sighed pushed himself upright and took a step towards the door, pausing as it opened and his wife entered. He drank in the sight of her, a slight smile playing on his lips for she did look amusing. Her body was overly large, her stomach carrying in front of her tapering down to slim legs and ankles. She complained that she hadn't seen her feet in weeks. Her face was flushed and full, slight weight in it making it plump, her hair thick and shiny, tumbling down her back in waves. Pregnancy suited her, she bloomed.

"Hey," she greeted him with a smile, obviously pleased that he was up and dressed. She put a lot of cache in these milestones of normality. "Sleep well."

"Yeah," he paused. "Did you?"

"Oh yes – very well." That was a lie, he knew it was. He had heard her going downstairs at three in the morning, the stairs creaking slightly; the snap of the kitchen light being switched on. She must have heard him going to the loo about an hour later, tossing and turning, the bed squeaking in rhythm. But it was an acceptable fib, easier to observe the formalities and not admit the truth, not open up all the introspection that was needed to sort it out. "Good to see you up and dressed." She nodded at him, her eyes travelling the length of his body, bundled up in winter clothing. "I was just going to grab a shower. Do you think you could give Lara breakfast and then send her upstairs so I could get her dressed?" He ignored the hopeful note in her voice, the studied casualness.

"Sure." He moved towards her so they were both standing in the doorway, no way he could get past, her bulk filled up the space and she wasn't moving in a hurry, just stood there and drunk in the sight of him, a slight smile on her mouth. Wordlessly she picked up his hand, placed it on her bump and he felt the churning movement under his hand, as their baby shifted and moved in the confined space. He closed his eyes and placed his other hand on her stomach as well, absorbing the energy of the little child.

It was the one thing that helped – knowing that a new life was about to come into the world. Because with the birth of a new life came new hope. And that is what he needed right now. "Annabella?" he queried. They were still discussing names and it had become a slight habit in the past week he had been at home. Every morning he gave her a name he thought of in the wakeful hours of the night and every evening she would reply with something different, never agreeing.

"Why?"

"Because it's pretty and she could be called Bella, which is a bit like your name." He shrugged, emotion deserting him, replaced with exhaustion. Trying, trying so hard to be a positive member of the family, to once again contribute. It sometimes worked, occasionally he felt like the husband and father he once was, most of the time; such as this moment he was just an outsider going through the motion – an actor who hadn't learnt his lines properly.

"I quite like that!" Izzy reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling up at him before she raised herself on his toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Don't be too hard on yourself Ric, it will come right. Patience my darling." And with that enigmatic statement, as if she had read the thoughts tormenting his soul, she slid around him and went to get washed and dressed.

* * *

He sat in his study later that morning looking through the sheaves of press cuttings; video clips and the diary that Izzy had kept for him; trying to make sense of what had happened – fill in the gaps in his memory, acres of blankness from when he was sedated and unaware. He turned the pages of the file which the cuttings had been secured in, noting that someone had arranged them into categories, stories which focused on the music; articles mentioning his past and the secret of the Phantom, others reflecting on his accident and the problems posed for security at large public events. From all angles and exploring all relationships; the media had ruthlessly dissected through his life, broken it down into little pieces and hung it up to air in full view of the public. Nothing about his life was private anymore – nothing other then the fact that the man who hurt him the first time, also hurt him the second.

He slouched in the chair in front of the large wooden desk, something he had rescued from an antique warehouse, rubbing it down and varnishing it. It had been a battle to get it into the room, but it now sat at one end dominating the space, out of place with the modern furniture in the rest of the house. His study was a small place of refugee and retreat. His lair, as Izzy mockingly referred to it.

The desk and bookshelves held all the paperwork of his life, boring bills, bank statements, contracts with EGA, press cuttings, sheet music and college work. A floor to ceiling wardrobe held all the clothes that he considered Phantom's and not his. There was no way he would go out wearing painted on tight leather trousers with laced-up flys – apart from being impossible to undo when he tried to piss in a hurry they screamed 'attention seeking.' It was the same with many of the heavy soled boots, leather jackets and ripped clothing that filled the space – none of it was going upstairs, having room in his real cupboard amongst his proper clothes, outfits that normal people would wear.

Platinum disks from his first two albums and hit singles were framed on the wall, along with his degrees – Izzy insisted he put them up; rather then leaving them to languish in a cardboard box as they had been doing. She was the one who insisted that he had this room; this space to call his own, to escape to and that was what he was doing a lot of right now – escaping.

But there was no escaping the noises in his head or the buzzing in his ears; tinnitus as a side effect from all the drugs in hospital; apparently another thing that would disappear given time – time and patience. Hell, he was so fucking fed up with those two words. They were mentioned to him daily, like two guardian angels. Give it time; have patience – they will destroy depression and pain as long as you have faith in them.

Funny really, that Izzy was the one discovering religion; despite not having even a passing association with it. Here he was desperately wishing he could find the faith that his Grandmother had to carry him through this twilight torment otherwise called recovery, but instead he found it as dead as his music.

The two things he had always had in his life were religion and music, for both had always been there. For as long as he could remember he had music playing in his head; a constant stream of sound to match any mood he could conjure up. And faith; hey he complained bitterly at his strict upbringing and being dragged off to church, but it's consistency was still comforting and when things got tough on the road, he still found the old prayers and hymns he had learnt springing to his lips. If they ever had a morning off in a city he would always go and visit the Cathedral, finding peace and contentment in the vast stone buildings – some built of centuries old stone; others testaments to modernity. And he was the one who had asked if they could bring their children up as Catholics, given that Izzy had no religion of her own.

But now, nothing – empty. No faith, no music and as these had been the cornerstone of who he had been he felt hollow inside; stripped of the very vitality that made him who he was. Sure he had his life, all his organs were in the right place and working (courtesy of the brilliant surgeons at the hospital) and his body was healing. But he felt that he didn't actually know who he was anymore. Father, husband, rock star? He was a fake at all of them now.

There was the lightest rap of fingernails across the door, not quite a knock but enough to grab his attention and Izzy wandered in, Lara hot on her heels. He swallowed hard. "I've got to go into Stirling," she said without preamble, need to just get those last few things for Bella." Her hand drifted to her bump which she caressed lightly.

"Bella hey, are you possibly considering my choice of name?" Turn around, smile; act normal. He followed the instructions in his head and swung around on the chair, Lara squealing with glee and dogging around her mother's leg, running up to him. He just put his hands up in time to stop her bashing into his bruised mid-riff. Her totally lack of artifice was refreshing, but at the same time her complete unawareness of the situation, was also worrying. She couldn't understand why he wouldn't pick her up and swing her around the room anymore, chase her across the garden, or play at the piano with her. He didn't have the strength or the patience to handle her two and a half year old determination anymore.

"She gives a kick every time I say it, which I guess is her sign of approval, so yeah maybe. Anyway, as I was saying – got to get the last few essentials and um – can I leave Lara with you? I'll only be gone about three hours max, that should be okay yeah?" He blanched at the thought, panic filling him causing him to gasp the words.

"Can't Mairi do it? Where is she?" The look she flicked him chastised.

"It's a Saturday Ric, Mairi doesn't work the weekends." She gave a sigh and closed her eyes looking as if she were searching for the lost prophet of patience. "Ric, I don't want to drag Lara around the shops. Just put on a video, make her some lunch, play the piano to her and you will _both _be fine." She was mind reading again. And before he could raise any further objections she bent down pressed a kiss to his lips, and their daughter's head and turned around walking out the door. He glanced down at his daughter who was twisting the computer chair he sat in back and forth so that he moved slightly left and then right; intent on her game. "I think Mam has just dumped us in it hasn't she?" He sighed and closed his eyes; there was no escaping Izzy sixth sense when it came to these sorts of situations. "Well, what do you want to do?" He knew it was a stupid question to ask of a two and a half year old. Despite her precocious use of language and her ability to bash away on the piano with something that vaguely seemed to resemble a tune, she was still a toddler – not able to answer vague open ended questions. He tried again. "You want to look through Da's cupboard?" Bingo, just the thing – she loved dressing up and as far as she was concerned the expensive leather boots, scarves, bracelets and clothes were simply an extension of her dressing-up box. Her face lit up with glee at the suggestion and he heaved himself from the chair, opening the wide doors so that the contents were on display. She fell on them with a squeal of delight and he sat and watched as for the next hour she babbled away to herself as she played with shoes; trying them on and wrapping the scarves around her so that she resembled some biblical character. She seemed to require little of him except to tie knots in her various costumes and decorate her arms with the various pieces of jewellery she discovered.

For the first time since his return home he felt peaceful, able to sit there and watch her – observe what was going on, but not required to participate. It was past twelve when finally distraction got the better part of her attention and she looked up a slight frown puckering her smooth forehead, a carroty curl sticking to her cheek, three necklaces dangling around across her chest. "Hungry Da." He looked up from his contemplation with a start. Of course she was used to being fed to a fairly strict routine which he had ignored, not really hungry, his tastebuds still alarmingly absent – not helping with his unnatural weight loss.

"Oh, okay." He paused and tried to think what to give her. Wandering into the kitchen, there were no helpful options on the counter, notes pointing him to prepared meals and the fridge seemed quite empty. "Shit," he muttered the words looking around wildly scared that his daughter might have heard him break the no swearing rule that Izzy maintained in the house. A brief search of the cupboards revealed the staple of baked beans and he grabbed them with relief. Baked beans he could cook – hell they had seen him through his years of being a student and quite a few days on tours when he couldn't stomach another takeout. Five minutes later they were both sitting down at the table to beans and toast, his portion; he noted not much larger then Lara's. Yet she seemed satisfied with the simple meal and the yogurt afterwards and he gave a sigh of relief that she didn't question his lack of cooking abilities.

"Is it time for a nap?" he asked once she had finished her simple meal and he had cleared the plates, feeling his eyelids grow heavy on him; leaning on the kitchen counter to support his weight. Even though he had done very little that day the intensity of concentration had left him needing as much of a sleep as his daughter.

"Da play?" Was the reply and he winced at the question.

"No darling, not today – your Da is..." He hesitated, what was he exactly? Sick? Not really, he didn't have a cough or cold, wasn't running a temperature and all his injuries were healing or healed. Convalescing, that was more like it. "I can't La," he spoke gently, scared that she would be upset.

"Da play on piano!" She plonked her hands on her hips and gave an exasperated sigh; an exact copy of her mother so it caused his mouth to twitch with laughter before dropping again. She meant that she wanted him to play the piano – curl up on the sofa and drift off to sleep as he played to her, it was always the way he got her off for a lunchtime nap. With a gulp at the thought, he looked down at his hands, spread the fingers wide and examined them.

The backs of his hands were scarred from the various drips and tubes that had been inserted into his veins, his right hand smaller due to muscle wastage. His hands use to be able to easily stretch an octave, that had been so used to a piano that he didn't even have to think about placing them on the keyboard or playing – now he wasn't sure. "Da play." The request was repeated; hands still on her hips and a foot stomped for good measure. He sighed and pushed himself to standing, closing his eyes at the slight dizziness. He had to do this; he couldn't let his daughter down!

"Okay darling." He held out his hand and she placed her in it, lost in his size and draped in a variety of scarves. She led him out to living room where the piano was framed in a pool of light from the floor to ceiling windows, beckoning in the still beauty of the early September day. He sat down at the stool with another sigh, smiling as his daughter climbed onto the sofa nearby, a thoughtful expression on her face as she pulled the soft wool throw over her, knowing the routine.

He looked at the keys, fear welling up inside him, the ringing in his ears getting worse as panic rose as bile. Swallowing he forced himself to place his hands on the keys. And then it was as if something deeper then emotion came through, something more intuitive then knowledge and he was playing, playing Gymnopédie number one, a piece learnt so long ago that he couldn't even remember the effort of learning – hadn't seen the sheet music in years.

And as the notes drifted out of the piano, soothing in their melody he found himself calming down, objectivity crystallising the random thoughts in his mind; a degree of insight occurring. He had always found peace at the piano; something he had lost in his years of rock music and touring, when he was seen as the front man; known more for his vocals and guitar playing. But it was the piano that he always turned back to; that was the instrument he had learnt on and in the playing there was peace and possibly a hint of acceptance.

He glanced over at the sofa, his daughter curled up against the cushion, her fat little cheek resting on one podgy arm, some of his bracelets still wrapped around her wrists. Her hair, which seemed to be growing more carroty as she grew into a young girl, clung to the fabric in an auburn haze and her lips were pulled together in a small pink pout. The sight caused his heart to almost ache with the love he felt welling up inside him, tears pricking in the back of his eyes and he paused, stopping in his playing. The thought shocked him as it was the most dramatic and intense emotion to come out of him in weeks.

Pushing himself gingerly off the stool he moved over to the sofa, pulling her into him; cuddling up under the blanket and allowed himself to drift off, finding solace in holding the soft body that inflated and deflated with the rhythmic breathing of a small child.

* * *

It was the feeling of the warmth being pulled out of his arms that woke him up this time and he blinked as he opened his eyes, aware that the sun had shifted slightly away from the piano and over the nest he and Lara had curled up in. Izzy was sitting next to him; their daughter a little ball on her lap; heavy sleeping eyes showing that she had only just woken. He suddenly realised that he had been fast asleep without any torturous thoughts to disturb him for the past...What was the time? He peered at his watch, realising as he peered at the dial with blurred vision that his glasses must have slipped off.

"Here you go," he felt the slim metal frames pushed into his hand. "It's half two, how long have you been asleep for?"

"Um, couple of hours I guess," he muttered as he put his glasses on, the world once again clearing into focus. "Have you um..." his thoughts drifted around like cotton wool and he searched to try and put them back together again. "Did you just get back?"

"Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago. Was everything okay? Guess you were letting her dress up then?"

"Not too bad." He yawned again and pushed himself upright, sitting up straight, taking in his wife and daughter. For the first time since he had awoken he felt calm, in control; more like himself, rather then trying to play a role. "Did you get everything done that you needed to?" He thought she blushed slightly as she nodded but couldn't be certain, sleep still clinging to him.

"Yup, the glamorous side of giving birth – disposable knickers, maternity pads, breast pads; plastic sheet; tens machine." She paused. "I had forgotten about all that – s'pose it was different as well because so much more was at the hospital with Lara."

"Well won't it be this time as well? I know we are up in the wilds of Scotland rather then London, but people give birth up here as well." He shook his head and scooted to the edge of the sofa, braced both hands on the edge and pushed himself to standing, pausing slightly at the blood rush, waiting for the inevitable tremble that passed through his body. As it passed he turned and faced Izzy realising that there was something not quite right with her comment. "Where are you planning on giving birth?"

"Well..." she paused and he frowned, there was something in the way she spoke; he had an ominous feeling. "Actually, if all continues to go well then hopefully here!" She spoke the word in an over bright manner as he starred at her in shock."

"Here; in this house? What's wrong with the hospitals?"

"Nothing, but there is several things wrong with their location, the fact there are both an hour's drive away, which as you aren't allowed to drive yet might be a problem, plus I have seen enough of hospitals recently to never want to go there again. Ric, it makes perfect sense. Gram says she will be here with me and I get two midwives to look after me. You can still be there and Mairi will be here for Lara."

"But it... wouldn't it make more sense...surely you don't..." He stopped trying to think up excuses, guess it made perfect sense, but the thought gave him the willies. The idea that his wife would be in pain; blood...He shook his head. Izzy was by his side in an instant, cradling Lara against her.

"Ric, I am thirty-six weeks pregnant, the baby could arrive any day and it makes sense to stay here. Don't let it freak you out. Besides I thought you were use to babies?"

"Not being born in the house," he muttered, rubbing his cheek. "Look, I am going upstairs, sleep a bit more, still tired – okay?"

"Ric?" He ignored her plea and climbed the stairs to their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He wasn't that tired but he needed some time alone, think about the idea. Looking over he noticed the large Mothercare carriers dumped by her side of the bed, the equipment needed for this crazy venture poking out the top. He gave a sigh and rolled over on his side, not looking at them, not wanting to think about it.

* * *

She left him up there! He couldn't quite believe that she had left him to sulk and mope on his own – had hoped that she would follow him up, maybe shed a few tears, change her mind. But it seemed his wife was made of sterner stuff, either that or she had been taking lessons; probably from his Grandmother.

He knew why the idea seemed so abhorrent. The last time he had seen vast rivers of blood it had been on his own hand. Seconds before he blacked out on stage he had glanced down as his abdomen; put his fingers to the source of the pain. They had come away shiny and wet, the metallic smell hitting him in the back of the nose, above the stench of beer and sweat. It was part of the recurring dream he had. Always he was bleeding, whenever he tried to catch up with McKenzie he couldn't and when he looked down there was blood gushing out of his body; always in a huge flow; expanded in the intensity of the dream.

If he could keep a rational head on the situation, if he could think through logically then yes, it did make sense for Izzy to have their child in the comfort of their own house. His Grandmother had delivered plenty of children at home and the nearest hospitals were both an hour long journey on some pretty bad single carriageway roads, it would be a painful journey. And unless the doctors suddenly signed him off to drive in the next week or so, there was no one to voluntarily take her – doubted that would happen, considering his scar pulled and ached with the simple acts of sitting up, bending over and walking; he doubted that driving; especially under stress would be an advised activity.

Rationality was difficult under the circumstances. He had always considered himself mainly cool headed, thinking through the facts – considering all the angles. It had helped in his years of studying law – he had often seen loopholes and situations where his colleagues and friends had failed to make connections. Now he felt as adrift and cotton wool headed; slow and thick with indecision and vacillation. Nothing was black and white anymore; nothing made sense. It was almost more painful then the wretched healing.

He finally went downstairs as the gloom of the late summer's day began to take over and the shadows lengthened into the kitchen. Izzy was sitting at the table, helping Lara with her supper. She seemed outwardly calm and the smile she shot him was sunny, but her eyes were rimmed with red; their grey blue faded with recently shed tears. He felt a stab of guilt surge through him at the sight. Yes, it was difficult for him – but if so, it must be ten times worse for Izzy!

"Hey," he put a hand on her shoulder, bent over and kissed her cheek. "You okay?"

"Just tired. Fed up of being pregnant." She sighed. "Would love a full night's sleep for once." She sighed. "You feeling okay? Lara seemed totally happy – see you haven't lost your touch."

"She was fine, totally easy." He swallowed. "I'll put her to bed tonight if you want, you go and have a bath or something and I will sort supper." He looked at her sceptical raised eyebrow. "Even I can order an Indian carryout!"

"As long as you get me a Pasanda; I don't want anything hot – it will repeat on me for evermore. That sounds lovely – do you think you are up to it?" He nodded, not wanting to say anything not wanting her to give him a get out clause. He needed to step up to the mark again, start trying a bit harder. The look of thanks in her eyes, the hug he got from her filled him with hope.

Thankfully their daughter went down easily and only a few hours later he was lifted the cardboard lids off the steaming trays. The smell of the spices and cooked meat hit him with their pungency and for the first time since his accident he felt his stomach rubble; mouth water with anticipation.

They sat and ate in silence for a bit; for once he enjoyed the taste of the food, felt his stomach swell to accept the increased portion and the delicious food. All the delectable meals Izzy had been pushing on him and it was a takeout curry from a restaurant that fell far from the luxury mark that helped him regain his appetite.

"Why don't you want me to give birth at home Ric?" Izzy said softly after eating about half her meal, settling back in her chair with a groan and massaging her prominent belly with both hands, the action taking a good few moments of rubbing as the increased size dominated her body.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in a hospital?" He paused long enough to notice the smile that flickered across his wife's face. "What?"

"Answer a question with a question Mr Stewart? You are up to your old tricks again. And no I don't think I would be more comfortable. This isn't a decision I've made lightly darling and it was actually the midwife who suggested it might be easier, given the ah – situation."

"What situation!" He heard the anger in his words as he spoke them.

"Well she did happen to suggest it a month ago when you were still in intensive care and no one was quite sure what might happen – but given the distance from the hospital, the fact that I actually have expert back up care in the form of Gram, lack of transport to the nearest maternity clinic and one small child already, I have no wish to go traumatise myself or those around me by racing off and having an impersonal conveyor belt birth. I would much rather do it in my own bed, surrounded by those I love."

"What if it goes wrong Isabella? What if they can't stop you bleeding? What if the baby won't come?" He spoke his deepest fears in a strained whisper, not meeting her eyes as he spoke. He felt her hands grab one of his, the metal of her wedding ring pressing into his flesh.

"Darling, there is no reason it should go wrong. I have had such a textbook pregnancy this time, but if things don't go according to plan then they will call an ambulance and transfer me. I really don't think it will though and frankly if I go to term I will be amazed! Look at me, I am thirty-six and a half weeks now – can you imagine if I get any bigger? I won't be able to climb the stairs!" He let out a little snort of laughter at the image.

"I don't know if I could handle the sight though," he admitted quietly. "I know it's not politically correct of me and very unmanly, but the thought of seeing you there and lots of blood..." He swallowed hard. "I can't bear the thought of seeing you in pain." He frowned at the smile that she flashed back at him, feeling his insides sinking – he was just being a wuss that was all.

"I thought the same Ric, really did. But you know if there was one thing I learnt all that time you were in hospital, apart from the fact that the nurses were on the whole fantastic people, was that the human spirit is resilient; that it can take a hell of a lot more shit then we give it credit for. I always thought I was a weakling, physically and emotionally, but I'm not darling and I know for a fact that you aren't."

"Don't know about the physically anymore." He hefted a sigh. "If I throw up or faint you won't hold it against me then?" He tried to make the request sound light-hearted and it worked. She smiled; the sight lighting up her face.

"Of course not." She leant over and kissed him, lingering, his mouth filled with her tongue tasting of spicy chicken, rice and onion. "Oh and by the way, I've invited a few people over tomorrow, a little bit of a get together." He drew back at the words. Sure, he had more of an active day then usual, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for company.

"Who? No one from the village?" They had been coming over in droves since the news had spread that he was back home. Some with touching concern for Izzy and a genuine desire to help her; knowing that she was heavily pregnant, others wanting to see the man they had rubbed shoulders with in the pub and post office, more glamorous now he had the label of rock star on him. He had been hiding from them all.

"No, Jim and Alanya with Theo. Gus. I asked Sandy, but he's over in Greece with someone; didn't say who." She trailed off concentrating hard on his features and he allowed himself to relax. His friends he could handle, even if they did come with a month old baby. Angus; it would be great to see him.

"Yeah okay, guess that's do-able." He shrugged, let a hint of a smile spill out onto his lips. Maybe; just maybe he was starting to turn the corner slightly – possibly he might just be starting to heal.


	59. Chapter 59

Chapter 59

He slid downstairs, trying not to draw attention to himself; his appearance. Pointless task really because Isabella always noticed everything. She was in the kitchen, the counter in front of her cluttered with the detritus of her cooking; preparing for lunch today; delicious smells coming from the hob. Lara was sat on her booster chair; energetically spooning weetabix into her mouth and the scene was one of controlled calm, rather like the buzz of setting up the stage before a performance.

"Slept in?" she queried with studied casualness as he switched on the kettle, pulling a mug out of the cupboard.

"Yeah," Ric replied huskily. It had been a surprise to wake up late, the sun already up, daylight outside the windows. Obviously having a comfortably full stomach last night had helped for he had fallen asleep and remained so for a good nine hours – the first time he had done that without the aid of sleeping tablets since his accident.

And then waking up, having a shower and going to get dressed; automatically reaching for the sweatpants and a t-shirt he had paused. His friends were coming over and whilst he didn't need to dress up for them; it would help to make an effort, show them that he was recovering. After all their livelihoods, or at least the ones that had been created with the band depended on him getting better, once again willing to lead the group.

So he had forgone the comfortable slobby outfit and tried to make a bit of an effort. Pulled on a pair of jeans; they hung off his hips and would probably have fallen down without the aid of a belt, even now there was a good inch of his boxers on show. He had teamed it with a t-shirt, pulled a shirt on over the top and rolled up the sleeves, brushed his hair and tied it back and put some contacts in, his Converse on his feet rather then just socks. Hardly life changing, definitely not going as far out as dressing as the Phantom, but it was more effort than he had put in since his release from hospital.

Rather then being exhausted by the exertion, he felt energised. It was almost as if by dressing down; he allowed himself the liberty of not trying. Or maybe having a good night's sleep just allowed him to regain a little bit of perspective. It had been sorely missing from his life.

"You make me a cup?" Izzy jolted him back into reality and he jumped slightly, turning and looking at her, seeing the slight smile on her lips, the way her face was alight with happiness.

"Okay. Did you sleep well?"

"Not too bad, although I was still awake in the middle of the night – par for the course at this stage. The baby tends to sleep during the day and as soon as I lie down she wakes up and starts doing flips. Thanks for that," she took the cup of tea he handed her, paused in her cooking and took a sip; leaning against the counter. She reached up and pushed a stray lock of hair off her face; although it immediately fell back into place, leaving a smear of sauce across her cheek. He reached over and gently wiped it off with his finger – the action suddenly sending a swell of sexual excitement through him – he hadn't expected it and the sensation left him startled. It was obviously a day for firsts.

He sat at the counter, ladling cereal into his mouth, pulling exaggerated faces at his daughter as he ate his breakfast, making her laugh; the noise causing Izzy to smile as she cooked. It was easy, he wanted to do it, make these two females who meant so much to him be happy. And as the smell of cooking filled up the space; as the time crept further forward, he helped lay the table; prepare for the people coming for lunch.

"You've given me one plate too many Iz," he handed the spare crockery back to her.

"Huh – have I?" She frowned at him as if mentally counting their guests in her head.

"Yes – including us there is five plus Lara."

"Oh, s'pose I'm counting Theo as a head. The joys of pregnancy; my head is turning to mush."

* * *

It felt strange to have the house full of people; even though the extra number of adults only numbered three. But it was good to see the guys again. Although he knew that they had been there at the hospital, they had to get on with their own lives, keep projects going and he hadn't caught up with them since being awake and aware.

Jim blew in like a breath of fresh air. He had to smile as the baby paraphernalia formed a pile by the front door; the same change bags and prams that the lead guitarist had sneered at only a couple of years ago. But now he wandered in; the small baby a crumpled figure strapped into the infant carrier – gazing down at him with rapt attention, Laney following more slowly; the smile a little more forced.

Gus was hot on their heels, wandering in with his usual understatement, his attention evenly distributed between the entire gathering; Lara included. It was easy and pleasant – why had he ever worried about being with these people? It was no more difficult then being with any other member of his family. He sat down; his daughter cuddled into his side, the baby son of his friend held in the crook of his arm, the child's face drawn into a deep frown as if he were considering all the problems in the world – deep brown eyes taking in the activity around him.

The talk was easy and light, no one choosing to discuss the band; music and what the future might be for the three men sitting in the living room. Gus has subtly placed a new Gibson brochure down on the piano as he came in, the action clearly stating that he expected Ric to make a purchase. They still had another two months of touring to finish, a lot of disappointed fans, not that Cluinn would be the first or last to cancel concerts.

Yet Jim seemed to be happy with his role of father, almost more so then Laney whose strained features and lack of smile seemed to echo his own depression. He gently directed Lara towards her toys and went and sat next to his friend, noticing how for the first time in many years she was looking less then her usual polished self. Her hair needed a trim; her foundation left an obvious tide line around her neck and there were visible bags underneath her eyes.

"Laney is everything..." He paused. God; he hated it when people asked him this very question and here he was about to parrot it out. "Things not going so well?"

"They're fine!" The retort had a bite to it that once upon a time would have him recoiling, but he could identify with the fear and loneliness running through her, knew the difficulty in finding perspective and direction. He wrapped an arm around her, pulled her into his side; rested her head on his shoulder. She hefted a sigh and muttered. "I'm just so tired Ric; Theo seems to want to feed all the time and when I pick him up he usually cries. Only Jim seems to calm him down." She swallowed. "I wanted a baby so much; wanted to be a mother more than anything and to find that it is difficult that I don't seem to be a natural..." She paused. "But enough about me, what about you my love? Are you feeling more human?" She drew back from his embrace and studied him with narrowed eyes. "You look a lot better then when I last saw you."

"It's slow Laney, very slow. And there are good days and bad days; very frustrating as well. A bit like being a parent, hey?" He shrugged. "C'est la vie, as your mother-in-law would say."

"Oh, don't even mention Marie!" Laney bit out. "She's is so full of well intended advice, but let's face it, she gave birth and handed her sons over to nannies. I don't think she even tried to breast feed them, let alone have them anywhere near her when they were little. So to have her tell me that it will all get easier is just, well; it rankles." He laughed slightly at the bite in her voice.

"Don't worry Laney, I won't give you advice; Izzy and I are just getting ready to go through it ourselves," he gestured to his wife who was standing talking to Gus; her profile with its swollen stomach highlighted against the window.

"Yeah, but you already have Lara, so it won't come as such a shock. Already have an idea. I mean look at Izzy; she is only about three weeks off her due date and is carrying on like normal." Ric found himself snorting at the comment. If only she did take a bit more care of herself; he would be happier.

"Remember I wasn't around when Lara was very little – damn sure it's going to be a shock for me." He paused. "Izzy told me yesterday that she wants to give birth at home – that came as a surprise.

"At home!" His friend gulped. "Wow – can kinda' see the appeal of that actually. Hospital is just; well so impersonal!" She hefted a sigh. "Wish I had the guts to do that – hated being in hospital; hated every second of it. It might have made those first few days a bit...easier." Her face dropped again slightly. "Oh Ric, I am sure it will all come right; but I also want a bit more sleep. It is easier now, on these new chill pills – the ones that had given me just wiped me of any emotion – levelled it all out. Jim said I became nothing more then a puppet, at least these ones let me have feelings; just not negative ones!"

"What did you say?" He was surprised at her admission, it was just as he was feeling; Laney had simply described his emotions; the dead nuclear landscape he seemed to inhabit.

"Well, the anti-d the doctor's had put me on is a sort of cure-all, general type and yet apparently depending on how you are feeling; what has happened, there are other sorts and other strengths. I changed last week and it is getting easier; at least I feel more like me, rather than just going through the actions."

"Laney, that is. Shit that is how I've been feeling. What were you being prescribed?" He was suddenly excited, amazed that the negative feelings could be drug induced as much as his own emotions.

"Um, not sure – Sert something I think. Why?"

"Because; well what you were describing, I kinda' been feeling the same?"

"Tired and fed up of breast feeding? Wanting your figure back?"

"Very funny Lady James," he replied dryly. "No, not being able to feel any strong emotion. I just thought it was me – but maybe it's the medication I am on; or at least some of it!" He shifted in the seat; the jostling movements obviously disturbing the baby in his arms who gave an indignant squawk and then screwing up his face let out a yell.

"Oh shit; here we go," the woman next to him sighed reached over and picked the child up from his arms.

"Laney, you don't have to..." He started; he didn't mind, after all he was the one that had started Theo crying. Jim was down on them in an instant.

"Time for his bottle isn't it? Do you want me to make it up?" She nodded with a weak smile that Ric noticed as the baby calmed down, gnawing on its small fist.

"Jim enjoying being a parent then? He observed.

"Yeah," the reply was distracted, her attention on her son as she made small shushing noises. As her husband came back with the bottle she shifted so the small child could feed and she relaxed; settling back into the sofa where they sat. Ric could tell when she once again picked up the thread of the conversation. "He is really coming in to himself," she said her gaze following her husband as he once again picked up his soft drink and joined the conversation with Isabella and Angus. "You know for once he had a purpose, a reason. I need him; Theo needs him. He has gone through life being the spare and the extra and now for once he isn't – he's number one and it is doing so much good!"

"And the drinking?" Ric glanced towards the glass his friend was holding – the red colour looked slightly suspect.

"Cranberry juice; his tipple of choice," Laney supplied the answer for him. "Smoothies, juice mixes – you name it; he drinks them and no drugs either before you ask; even giving up smoking as he claims it is bad for the baby. Seriously Ric he is, well, he's the guy I fell in love with all those years ago once more." She gave a slight sob. "I just wish I could be the girl he wanted to marry for all those years. But at the moment I need him desperately and he is rising to that need, it is completing him." She paused again. "You aren't planning on going back on tour again soon are you? I don't think I could cope?"

Ric laughed startled with the question. Hell, Laney must be feeling down in the dumps if she felt she couldn't cope without Jim by her side. Hadn't she looked at him properly? He could barely stand up for more then an hour max; touring was out of the question for a good while yet.

"No Laney – I haven't even been signed off with a clean bill of health, let alone feeling fit enough for touring. We aren't going anywhere for quite a while sweetheart so don't panic." He looked at his friend and saw the relief that flashed across her face. It was reassuring in a strange way to know that he was not the only one plagued by doubts, having sleepless nights and suffering with depression. "You want me to burp Theo, you go talk to Izzy?" She handed the small child over with a smile and he leaned him across his shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down the tiny back as his Isabella had shown him ages ago with Lara.

He sat there contently, the weight comfortable against his neck, watching his wife and friends talk chat and laugh, enjoying having the soft snuffling in his ear as his own daughter had once done to him. He hadn't realised until this moment that he missed it. Maybe he was looking forward to being a father again, once he managed to cut through all the meaningless noise and clutter that had crowded his life over the past few months.

It had been hard to acknowledge Isabella's pregnancy, not being there to witness all the different stages, see her growing. And then when he woke up in hospital he didn't have an ounce of emotional energy – the only thing he could feel was helplessness and a smidgen of hate for the man who once again had bought him down. It was almost like being a child again himself, the utter dependency on the nurses to do the slightest thing for him and then as he slowly recovered, became more capable they were less involved, although he still relied on Izzy for help. And now; achingly slowly he was coming to terms with it; day by day small advances reassured him that he was improving – he never thought getting dressed would be such an achievement.

But he knew that his friends were desperate for more major breakthroughs, the hints that had been dropped about having a jam later. He winced – he hadn't picked up a guitar since his accident. No, shit it wasn't an accident; he had to stop calling it that – there was nothing accidental about McKenzie's actions. Either way he hadn't even cradled a guitar in his lap, run his hands over the strings. His fingers were getting soft, would probably bleed when he started to play again – if he started.

The lack of snuffling made him realise that Theo had fallen asleep on his shoulder, his face pressed into the crease of his neck. It was a warm, comforting feeling; the smell of talcum powder and baby shampoo dominating his senses, a small oasis of stillness and calm amongst the lunch party. Struggling out of the depths of the sofa, not wanting to disturb the sleeping child he stood up walked over to where the buggy sat and lowered the little figure into it, before joining the group of adults.

"Drink darling," Izzy handed him a glass of innocuous looking red liquid, more cranberry juice most likely, although one sniff told him that it was laced with something. He shot a look at his wife who returned it with an expression bordering on angelic. He probably shouldn't be drinking, not on anti-depressants, but then at the same time no one had told him he couldn't consume alcohol. It was a bit like food really; recently it had just lost any appeal. But he had enjoyed the curry last night and so with a quick look up to heaven he took a swig of his drink, only realising as the flavour burned down the back of his throat that it had been mixed with a generous hand. The smug smile on Gus' face alerted him to the barman.

"That's nice," he choked out, causing his wife to snort slightly as tears formed in the corners of his eyes, ran down his face.

"You okay Ric?" Jim looked at him with concern, walloped a massive hand down on his back, nearly causing him to fall forward with the blow.

"Yeah, yeah." He straightened up; tried to pretend that everything was fine and he didn't just have a teenager's reaction to a laced drink. Had he really slipped that far backwards? But he didn't a chance to voice the question, to turn it into a silly joke or query as their happy group was interrupted by the sonorous ring of the doorbell, a deep chime that echoed throughout the space in the house. "Who could that be? Izzy – you invited anyone else?" She looked up from where Lara was clinging to her leg, tugging at the bottom of her top and whispering something, took her hand and walked over.

"Take Lara to the loo for more would you and I will go and find out who that is. Please?" He nodded and with a brief gesture to his daughter excused himself from the gathering. She had suddenly embraced potty training with gusto and it meant that someone; usually Izzy had to take her to the loo and help with the process. He smiled to himself, babies; potty training and sleepless nights – the glamorous life of a rock star.

Ten minutes later, the job done he eased himself out of their downstairs loo and went to rejoin their friends, knowing that he would be in for a bit of ribbing. But Izzy was waiting for him outside, grabbed his arm as soon as he eased himself around his daughter's body and the door – it wasn't the largest room in the house. "Come here a second Ric." He looked down at her with a frown, her behaviour strange.

"Who was at the door?"

"Just come here?" It was only a few brief steps to his study, but she dragged him with a determination through the door, kicking it shut behind her. It took only a glance to note the tall skinny boy standing in the middle of the room, staring at the disks and certificates on the wall with a look of awe on his face. Ric glowered at the figure – what the hell was his wife doing allowing a groupie into the house, even more so showing him into his study; his private holy of holies?

"Why?" he purposefully kept his voice low as he flicked a hand at the figure standing there who had turned and was looking at them, balancing his body weight on the outer edges of his scuffed trainers. Another glance and Ric saw that he was wearing a T in the Park t-shirt, one that mimicked the Cluinn logo. He couldn't understand how this fan had found the house, got in past Isabella and was now standing in the middle of this room!

"I want you to meet him, or rather reintroduce yourself. Don't jump to conclusions." Her tone chastised as she took a step forward, holding one hand out to the young man, another backwards as if trying to join them together. "Here you go Cameron, please come and meet Richard." Neither of them made a move, Ric glared at him, annoyed at the intrusion – unwise move as it seemed to piss Izzy off. "Richard!" The boy let out a hesitant grin at the evident annoyance – it only made him feel more churlish.

"What's your name?" He finally asked, realising he had missed the introduction and that like it or not this fan was inside his home and he might as well be basically polite before he booted him out. He may have charmed one of the Stewart's, but not both.

"Cameron." The boy's voice was deep, fully broken. "Cameron, um..." he glanced across at Izzy who smiled encouragingly, "well I was born Cameron McKenzie." It took all of Ric's self control to not snarl and storm out the room. Whoever this boy was he had obviously done his research; knew a deeper level of fact that what was available on the internet.

"Cameron McKenzie hey?" He made no move forward, simply crossed his arm over his chest, frowning deeply; trying not to show how the name had shaken him. He narrowed his eyes at the teenager before him, trying to see any of the young boy he had known. Eye colour was the same; he had the blue Stewart eyes, like his; like Lara's – with the same slightly slanted set in the face. His dark hair shone with red as a stray sunbeam burst through the window and with the sunlight silhouetting; it was obvious to see his tall lanky frame.

"It's, well I call myself Cameron Roberts now, my parents; they adopted me – fostered me first and then adopted me and..." He swallowed hard and Ric realised the boy was nervous – of course, either he was seriously blagging a story; hoping to get close to his idol, or he was nervous because he was trying to reconnect with a past life. He closed his eyes briefly before opening them and looked at Izzy who raised her eyebrows in a pointed fashion.

"What are you trying to tell me Cameron Roberts?" He kept his tone level, blandly pleasant. Gather the facts, don't jump to conclusions. He wanted to see if this boy had details that no one else could know.

"I, well; I am your brother," the teenager replied; his voice cracking slightly with the strain. "I was removed and sent to foster parents after, well after my birth mother was killed. Mam and Pops fostered me when I was four and adopted me when I was seven. I've only just found out; when I turned sixteen." He turned slightly towards Izzy, pleading on his face; the expression sent shivers down Ric's spine for it pricked a memory, a small child hanging on his leg; begging to sit on his shoulders – hero worshipping his older brother.

"How do you know this?" Keep tone of voice level; do not show any emotion, he counselled himself.

"My parents told me when I turned sixteen, showed me the adoption papers and the letter detailing the case from my social worker when they first fostered me. But they didn't know the names of the rest of my family – it was only when, when the details came out; after what happened at T." He swallowed hard and made a vague gesture towards the t-shirt he wore. "I was there, with some mates, saw it all. And then when stuff came out in the papers; it sounded so like what my parents had told me and I tried to track you down at hospital and met Isabella and she met my Mam." He shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry; didn't mean to interrupt your Sunday – I'll call my folks to come and pick me up; it was my idea to come over." The look on his face was sad and Ric felt a momentary stab of guilt. It was easy to be suspicious for some of the fans wove such tall tales in an effort to get close to the band; he heard more stories about missing brothers, sisters and cousins then he could count.

"Look Cameron, what you say is true; but forgive me for being suspicious – I've had a lot of people spin lies and after T; well let's just say I might start asking people for DNA if they want to get close!" He tried to keep his tone light, pass it is as the joke he meant it to be and was rewarded when he saw the young man's mouth turn upwards in a smile. "So I am going to ask you some questions, that hopefully if you are who you claim; you should know. I happen to be fully aware that they aren't on any website or fan blog." He shifted his weight slightly. "Sit down would you; I can't stand for that long!" His legs were aching and he took a step over to his computer chair; sunk down onto its ergonomically designed surface that cradled his long body; gestured for Cameron to take a seat opposite. "Iz?" She moved forward, bent over slightly and put her head close to his. "You go and tell Gus and Jim I'll be a little bit, start lunch without me?"

"Don't be cross darling," she spoke back sotto voiced. "I believe him; I really do and I have met his mother – I swear he is telling the truth!"

"Hmm," he lifted his lips up pressed a kiss to them. "I still love you by the way – even when you plot!" She laughed slightly at his words and straightened up, smiling at Cameron as she left the room; even though he was staring at the floor; his cheeks stained red with a blush.

"She has met my Mam," Cameron spoke as the door closed on them. "She said that she needed verification and all, I mean I first met her over three weeks ago; so like um please don't be cross with her!" His voice was forceful.

"I'm not; my wife never ceases to amaze me with what she does." Ric shrugged and saw the relief spread across the face opposite.

"Okay, that's cool. I mean she has been so amazing – the papers were all over her when you were in hospital, followed her everywhere and took all these photos. It really pissed a lot of fans off because you could see she was unhappy. But she never kicked out at them or anything; just kept her chin up and mute – really classy." Cameron nodded and then bit his lip; obviously embarrassed at what he had just said. Ric found himself smiling involuntarily; glad that the kid didn't seem too cocky; it made his whole story more plausible.

"So, Cameron," he started; realising his tone of voice was lecturing; that of the lawyer providing a summary; of a parent talking to a child – not either the laid back way he spoke to fans; or siblings would speak. "Did the letter from the social worker state any facts about why you had been removed from your home?" He pushed down on his emotions, tried to stay impartial as his years of solicitors training had taught him. It didn't prepare him for the flash of pain that crossed the face opposite.

"My Mam was killed; stabbed," he spoke quietly, "by her husband; my father. He also hurt my brother who was trying to defend us and the baby she was carrying was murdered as well." Ric saw the tears well up in the boy's eyes, leant forward placed a hand on his knee; knowing the pain that was ripping him apart. "Social services decided to remove me because the only assistance were my grandparents, both in their sixties and it was thought that with one injured grandchild the strain might be too much. I apparently had nightmares for two years; but don't really remember them – I think my brain had shut down on that whole bit; I remember so little!" He looked up and stared directly at Ric causing him to flinch; his eyes; god Cameron's eyes were just like his mother's! He directed the attention back to the teenager who was talking again. "I do remember having an older brother, use to come in and play with me sometimes; it was really exciting as he was really big and grownup. I don't remember him having a scar on his face though; although I do remember that he use to carry me on his shoulders around the roads; made me feel really tall!"

Ric lifted his hand, felt the old injury. "I," he paused, realising that in similarity his voice had also cracked. "This comes from my Mother's husband, slashed a knife through my face, stabbed me in the ribs. I don't like people to see it really," he continued watching his emotions being mirrored on the face opposite.

"That's why you wore the mask?" Ric nodded and watched the feelings flood across the youthful visage; inexperienced in hiding them. "Peter McKenzie was the name of my birth father and the man who stabbed you. Was he also the one that stabbed you at T in the Park?" That made Ric sit up, look at the teenager.

"Did Izzy tell you that?"

"No. Pops, my Dad; he's a psychologist; helps the police with profiles and stuff sometimes. Said it was quite likely. Was it him?" Ric stared for a moment; amazed at the way this kid held himself together; like so many sixteen year olds torn between the children they were and the men they were becoming. He could remember being in a similar state.

"Yeah," he said as the seconds ticked by. "Yeah it was. He's back in jail though – not going to get parole this time either." He hefted a sigh and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated and confused. "Cam," he paused. "Sorry, do you mind if I call you Cam; it's what I called – called um my brother..." he trailed off. Damn it, he knew; knew in his heart of hearts that this gawky slightly awkward man child opposite him was his brother – apart from the fact that the resemblance to his teenage self was startling; there was knowledge and a connection that could not be faked by digging up secrets on the internet.

"Yeah, you can call me Cam, that's what my friends call me."

"Okay, well – Cam. Do you have a...you got a birthmark?" The teenager opposite him coloured slightly and bent down pulled up the leg of his jeans to the knee and then cursed quietly.

"I do on my thigh, here." He indicated the position and then stood up with a sigh unbuckling his belt. He let his jeans drop slightly and true to his word, just below the bottom of his boxers was a red mark, faded and blotchy now, but in the same place Ric remembered his younger brother having one. He nodded, not able to find words to speak and Cameron quickly pulled his trousers up again and sat down. "You got a similar one haven't you?" he said quietly. "That's one thing I do remember, you have a birth mark more or less the same because I liked to compare them when I was little – it made me feel important and connected.

"Fuck!" He spoke the swear word softly, all barriers disintegrated. No one knew about his birthmark; no one cared. On a body full of scars and tattoos, a small reddish patch of flesh had no significance whatsoever. High up on his thigh it was always hidden under clothes and apart from Izzy and some of the doctors he doubted anyone had ever seen it. "Okay Cameron Robertson, one last easy question. When is your date of birth?"

"Third of April, Nineteen ninety-four," he chanted out with a smile. "Is that the best you can come up with?" There was bravado and a touch of swagger in the voice now, secure in the knowledge that he had proved himself.

"What's your favourite Cluinn song?" The teenager ogled him, confused by the question.

"But, like that's not a test – Cluinn wasn't around when I was a kid."

"I know," Ric reassured. "I'm just curious. You were there at T – you must have at least heard of us!"

"Yeah," he shrugged and the gesture was so similar to Ric's own that for a moment he thought he was seeing a reflection of his teenage self. "Everyone likes the heavier stuff, or 'Light of Day', but actually my favourite – at the moment anyway is 'The Moment'. You haven't performed that for ages!"

"No, we haven't." Ric agreed, the tune springing to his mind and he started to hum it. From the first album, it wasn't even released as a single – not the most obvious tune to like. Obviously his brother was actually quite a fan. "Okay, Cam – I believe you mate." He paused. "Let's go get some lunch and you can meet your niece; the age difference, it's about the same between you and me, so you can have fun playing the grownup with her!" He pushed himself to standing and wrapped an arm around the shoulder of the child opposite who had also stood up. "It's nice to see you again, missed you."

"It's good to be back in touch..." Cameron stopped before he finished the sentence and looked at Ric with a mixture of panic and hero worship. "What can I call you? Phantom sounds stupid and I know your name is Richard but..."

"Ric, you can call me Ric – that's what everyone who knows me calls me. It's only when I am on stage that I am known as Phantom or Tom." It was his turn to pause now. "At least that's what it use to be, not so sure what the hell will be going on now!" He half muttered the words, not caring that his brother heard them.

"Shit, no; I mean you aren't planning on quitting are you? I mean Cluinn can't just disappear like that it would be...No way!" His reaction made Ric laugh.

"Cameron mate, at the moment my main concern is finding something to eat – the rest of it – it can be figured out after lunch. Now you hungry? Wanna' meet Jim and Angus?"

* * *

They dragged him out to the studio in the end. The usual mixture of bullying, teasing and force applied; along with his brother's obvious desire to catch a glimpse of where he played his music meant that he ended up in the room off the garage for the first time since he had come back home.

He had portioned off what had been a large storage room off one side of the garage, making half a small gym where he could exercise and the other a place he could play his music in privacy without subjecting all and sundry to his efforts.

It wasn't a glamorous location, plain white walls; a few windows set high in the walls for light and privacy. He had put some shelves up, wired it up to plug in the instruments and he had keyboards and amps in there; a couple of chairs and a few shelves. It had a look of neglect about it as well; all the instruments that accompanied him on tour were in their flight cases over at Granthorn; where they now stored all their equipment – only his Fender and violin had made it home.

But Gus and Jim had bought their guitars and wandered over with the cases, ignoring the feeble protests he put in their way. Once inside they pulled their instruments out, tuned them up with familiar hands, plugged them into the amps and then paused, looking at him expectantly.

"What?" Ric caught the expression on Jim's face, a cross between annoyance and disbelief as he stood looking at him. He had bunkered down in the old armchair that sat in the corner, Cameron perching on a stool next to it; having no intention of playing at all.

"Where's your guitar mate? Jim sounded exasperated. "Come on you need to play!"

"No I don't!" He felt stubborn, not wanting to show off in front of the teenager by his side, not sure he was up to it. He was tired after lunch, not use to being vertical for a whole day and his body ached with the effort. And with tiredness came the caress of depression that he had been fighting for hours.

"Yes you do, need to fight the good one for a bit longer. Come on, one song – show Cam here that it was worth the money he paid to go to T in the Park! One song, that's all – what do you want to hear Cameron?" Ric watched as his brother's head whipped back and forth between the men in the room, agog at the arguing between them. He would soon learn that it was commonplace.

"I gave away my Gibb; to the hospital!" He tried to wriggle out again.

"Yeah, Gus told me. Why d'you do that you Muppet? I spent hours fixing it up."

"Because they could flog it and get some money, that's why. It felt right at the time." Ric shrugged.

"They made ten thousand pounds actually." Cameron interjected slightly shyly. "That's what Mam told me. They put it into an auction down in London last week and that's what it sold for."

"Ten thousand; shit really?" Ric switched back to Jim; triumph on his face. "See, that's why I did it. Because another Muppet out there will pay that for it! I kept thinking I should get another anyway, much as loved the old girl." He paused and realised that Jim was looking hopeful. "But it leaves me with nothing to play. Everything else is over at Granthorn!"

"Bollocks." Gus interjected, without looking up from his strings as he fingered out a tune on the bass. "Your Fender is back here, I bought it over myself and your violin. Go and play that!"

"No."

"Yes!" Jim could be as stubborn as him and he glared him down. "Cam, it'll be in his study – go and get Ric's it would you?" He sighed as the boy hesitated. "The black Fender guitar; ask Izzy if you can't find it." With an apologetic glance at his brother, the teenager slipped out of the room, Ric could hear his trainers pounding across the gravel back to the main house.

"I don't want to play. Shit Jim, I haven't picked up a guitar in months; I am going to be crap and that kid is going to be disappointed – don't make me do this."

"Damn will. You made me go into rehab Ric when I didn't want to. You didn't let me wallow in my own self-pity and I am damned if I will let you do the same! Gus, you agree don't you mate?"

"Actually I do Ric! We aren't asking you to play a concert; just have a jam on a couple of songs; don't even have to sing properly. Surely there is a little bit of you that wants to show off to that kid? For fuck sake; he idolises you, can see it in the way he looks at you. Are you sure he's for real by the way?"

Ric nodded slowly, taking in the clearer less forceful comment from the bass guitarist. As usual his two friends complimented each other with their personalities. "Am I sure Cameron is really my brother?" He asked; watching as his friends nodded. He supposed it was right for them to be suspicious for he simply introduced the teenager as his sibling, no explanation or filling in. "Yeah, we've only just reconnected – I don't really know him though, it's weird. He is just like another groupie fan isn't he? Strange to think that we share blood – well, what I have that is still mine and not donated that is!" He pulled his face into something resembling a smile.

"How do you know he is actually your brother though?" Jim pressed. "I realise he looks like you, but are you totally sure that he is who he claims and not some set up, or decoy of a crazed fan."

"He knew Peter McKenzie killed my mother, our mother; knew he had been removed from our home because of it. That's not public information, even since everything else has been exposed." Ric watched as his friends pulled wry faces of agreement. "And," he pressed on; wanting them to be as clear on the situation as he was. "He showed me a birth mark he has; knew without me asking that I had a similar one – you can't find out that sort of info by accident!"

"True." Jim shrugged. "But are you going to ask to see his birth certificate and stuff, meet his adoptive parents before you move him into your house and start introducing him around. Just checking you haven't lost your sense of perspective mate," he added as Ric snarled at the suggestion.

"Look Jim, of course he will, this is the man who checks every semi-colon and dots above the 'I'," Angus interrupted, pouring his usual calm on the brewing trouble. "Look, we just don't want you to potentially get hurt again, okay!" Gus slipped his guitar strap off again and propped his instrument against the wall. What McCullough is saying in his usual crap style is that we were seriously worried about you for a bit, thought we were going to loose you and all – it was seriously scary; for all of us!"

"Yeah, well, I didn't die did I?" His reply was flippant. "But at the same time I was practically cut in half by the doctor's and still feel crap about the whole thing, so give me some time and some peace."

"We have!" Angus interjected again. "You've been out of it for nearly two and a half months. We need you back Ric. Not asking you to come on tour, just to play your guitar; remember – that instrument you were practically born with. Just two songs – maybe 'Light of Day' and 'Hearts of Fire', those will be easy!" Ric sighed, if Jim's bullying didn't get to him, Angus' rational talking usually managed.

"Two songs," he ground out. "And I am not singing with a mike." He watched as his friends shrugged in agreement, picked up their guitars again and quickly checked they were in tune. "And let's do 'The Feeling' instead of 'Hearts'" he added. "Cam says it's his favourite," he added as they looked at him in surprise.

The crunch of gravel alerted them to the boy returning, holding the shiny black Stratocaster in front of him as if it were a sword, a look of awe on his face. "Here you go and Isabella says tea is in an hour!" He gabbled the words out with a smile, obviously pleased that he had accomplished the task set; sitting back down on the stool as Ric stood and accepted the instrument off him.

He held it in his left hand, glanced at the stings; re-associating himself with the weight and feel, looking at the distorted reflection in the black lacquer on the body. With a force born of habit he slipped it over his head and put his hand across the strings. Without plugging it in he plucked the notes, tightening the strings to tune it. And then he bent down and plugged into the amp, heard the hum of reverberation and watched the needle rise and hover as it picked up the frequency. He closed his eyes, didn't want to look at anyone else, not Jim and Gus; definitely not Cameron who was gazing at him with awe.

"Feeling, first. One-two-three," he counted them in and started to play, didn't want to make this any sort of occasion, didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to what he was doing. The tune came out from the depths of nowhere, as always his fingers simply remembered the notes, despite the fact that he hadn't played it for months – years possibly. And he opened his mouth to sing, feeling his vocal cords stretch; intending to simply sing along quietly. But it was impossible, as the music swelled he found himself crooning along, his breathing regulated, his stomach muscles working to control his pitch and the words flowing from him. It was like trying not to walk or talk.

They finished the song and he opened his eyes, suddenly aware that he had them tightly clamped shut. And with restored vision he suddenly felt the pain in his midriff from the intensity of using his wasted muscles. His right hand had droplets of blood around a couple of his fingertips and his head spun with the increased flow of oxygen. With a will of effort he took two steps and collapsed into the chair, leaning his head back against the worn fabric.

And as the endorphins started to flow once more through his body, as his breathing returned to normal he lifted his head and meet the gaze of the other three people in the room. Cameron looked amazed, Jim and Gus pleased and slightly smug at the same time. "Welcome back Phantom," Jim crowed as the seconds ticked by. "When do you want to tour again?"

"Humph," he responded, but as he continued to feel so positive he found the smile stretching his face, couldn't keep it off. Who needed drugs – his high had always come from music and it was once again working its magic. "C'mon then," he stood up once more. "Let's play one more time!"

* * *

Izzy lay next to him that night. She had excused herself to go the spare bedroom where she had been sleeping, but he couldn't let her go and had drawn her down on the bed next to him. Now he lay next to her, listening to snoring, her large bump highlighted against the darkening night. He hadn't closed the curtains, and there was still a small amount of contrast in the sky.

It had been a hell of a day – the effort of getting up in the first place, the sheer amazement and frustration of Cameron turning up and then having a jam with the boys. They had played four songs and then, feeling like he was about to fall over with exhaustion he forced himself to stop.

Tomorrow is another day! He thought to himself – like Scarlet O'Hara or something, although she did have a point. Tomorrow was another day and for once he was looking forward to it. And with the thought running through his mind, he threw his arm over his wife's body and joined her in repose.


	60. Chapter 60

**Well, here we go - the story continues and I fear is reaching it's conclusion. Anyway - enjoys and let me know what you think! Pips**

Chapter 60

The sun was shining resolutely, a soft wind blowing through the open window and sunroof. The music poured out of the radio and Lara, sitting in the back of the car strapped into her seat sung along in her own usual way. It was amazing the difference a few days could make. Okay, more like eighteen days, just over half a month, but he was feeling happy, positive and enlightened and what's more he was able to drive again.

The ability to have some freedom; to be able to travel when and where he wanted was fantastic; more so the fact he wanted to enjoy that possibility, rather then curl up in his bed and be alone. The pulling on his stomach had eased, his appetite was creeping back to normal levels and now with warnings to take it gently he was once again allowed to drive.

The turning point, he mused as he navigated the car out of the driveway and down the road, was having his anti-depressants changed. Following Laney's advice he went and talked to his GP, asked for some more options and was moved to another set of pills. There had been a couple of difficult days when his body had once again adjusted to the different medication; but he found himself able to have emotion. The panic and fear were still kept at bay, but he once again felt like himself, rather then a very bad actor. It was like waking up from a bad dream.

And with the advent of normality and the ability to once again view his position in relation to the world around him, came the necessary summary and acceptance. He had gone over to his Grandparents, spent an afternoon talking and alternately raging and weeping; tried to come to terms with what had happened both a few weeks and many years ago; tried to understand why his mother had made the choices she did.

He had never done it before; never truly accepted his mother's death – but now having been so close to the gaping void himself; having had to fight for the life he had; it started to make sense. Acceptance, forgiveness and the ability to move on – the trinity that made up the catharsis of emotions he had been carrying around with him for the past twelve years.

Meeting Cameron, realising that he had been able to build a happy and secure life for himself; had a stable future had helped. Knowing that McKenzie would never even get before the parole board again was a relief. Excited and nervous with the fact that he was only a few days away from meeting his new daughter was nerve wracking, but amazing. These factors all combined and when his Grandmother had gently suggested that he find his faith again and pray in thanks it all flooded out of him. He lay his head on the sofa and bawled hot; hard angry tears – tears that burnt and healed as they dropped.

As he drove home that afternoon, a song entered his mind; crystal clear and perfect; every note and word already formed – it felt like plagiarism it was so easy to write down when he got home. And later that evening, after supper he had walked over to the garage, plugged in his Fender and played it out, fine tuning the sound. For the first time in three and a half months he had composed, played music – behaved as he always had. Shit, he had never appreciated the joy and happiness it had given him, this gift for making music that he took so much for granted.

He had glanced around the bare walls, the light reflecting off them; glaringly bright against the dark slivers of night visible through the small windows. The late September days gave way to a chill that declared autumn was on its way and he shivered as he cooled down. It was like someone walking over his grave – or maybe it was his mother reaching out to touch him. In the stillness he felt close to her, felt her presence near; almost as if he could turn around and she would be standing behind him. The song had been for her after all, acceptance that she would always be watching over him; even though she was no longer here with him.

* * *

At least Cameron had been reunited with the family. It was the first time he had seen his Grandparents cry in years. But at least this time they were tears of happiness as they embraced their long lost grandson, welcoming him back into the family. Cameron had been bowled over by their affection; slightly bemused by the intensity of emotion, able to cope with Ric and his understated behaviour more easily then the fussing of his maternal grandparents.

Their relationship had taken off, the role of grown-up brother solidified by the simple fact that Cameron hero worshipped him anyway. In some ways the most difficult thing had been to convince him that he was as normal and ordinary as his adopted parents and friends, despite his chosen career. To that end he and Izzy had driven over to his brother's house, met his parents and introduced themselves fully. The kind and loving couple had obviously found it reassuring that under the rock exterior there lay a normal, conscientious adult – his father in particular pleased by the fact that Ric had such a proven academic and work related record. Cameron had seemed slightly put out at first that his brother didn't spend his days in a drug fuelled alcohol haze, lying around the house in tight leather trousers and all the other stereotypes that hung off rock stars. But he started coming over after school, spent an increasingly large amount of his free time with them; getting to know the family.

It had been the last weekend, when Cam had stayed that the seed of an idea had been planted in Isabella's head. She had been disturbed with the news from Tatiana that several journalists were competing to write the authorised biography about the lead singer of Cluinn. After the sensationalism of his recent incarceration in hospital, the fans had realised there was a story behind Phantom, one they wanted to know. Several canny authors had become aware of the money to be made to write the definitive history and hoped to be chosen to write the book, released for the summer hits next year.

Ric was resigned to this, inevitable really and he had made the decision that it was better to cooperate and have written what he wanted, rather than something unauthorised where they would dig up everything about his family and past. Unfortunately Izzy wasn't quite so turned on to the idea and any discussion left her tight lipped and fuming. It had Cameron who had innocently asked why she didn't write it.

"You have an English degree haven't you?" he asked in his simple way, causing her to nod. It made Ric smile with pride – despite all that she had been through; despite being pregnant she had finished her final piece of coursework in June and had graduated with a first. She had a way with words, a style of writing that was ultimately readable. "So why don't you write something – after all you have the inside track, you have total access and can make sure it says what you want. In fact you could both write it."

"That sounds like quite an appealing idea actually," Ric interjected, taking a sip of his glass of wine and relaxing back into the sofa with a sigh – it had been a long day and he still got tired quite easily. "Would you consider it at all darling?"

"What write a book and raise a new baby?" She sent him a chiding glance and continued with sarcasm. "Easy as pie! I might have to get you to type up my scribbling then." She hefted herself up to standing with a puff and groan, a hand in the small of her back. "Yeah, I suppose I could be persuaded; for a share of the profits of course!" She flashed Cameron a wry grin as she waddled into the kitchen.

That had been a week ago. Today she had lain down on the sofa after lunch and had refused to budge, saying she didn't have the energy and her back hurt. Her official due date was still four days away, although privately Ric didn't know how she could get any bigger. Her exhaustion seemed to be all encompassing, much like her size. Instead he had offered to take Lara with him on the hour long round trip and let her get some rest, on the proviso she went upstairs and lay down. She had accepted gratefully.

So he strapped Lara in and drove in the direction of Stirling to the sixth form college where his brother had just started. It had become a bit of a habit in the past couple of weeks for him to come and spend the afternoon at their house, doing his homework and getting to know his brother and sister-in-law whilst his parents were still at work. He knew that Cameron enjoyed the kudos of being collected by his older sibling, despite Ric's private warnings that he wasn't to tell all and sundry about his day job. If the whole college found out the rumours couldn't be stopped, and he didn't want to find himself and Isabella mobbed by eager autograph hunters.

He parked up the road in the usual place and settled back in the seat with the engine switched off, noticing that Lara had fallen asleep in the back of the car. Izzy wasn't going to be too happy about that as their daughter would probably not be so accepting about going to bed later. Maybe he would persuade Mairi to do the dirty job instead and go and scrub Izzy's back in the bath. He glanced in the mirror and saw a group of rag tag boys approach the car, Cameron in the front. With a sigh he opened the door, got out the car, leaning his length against the side.

"Hey Cam," he said as the group approached, smiling at his brother and the cocky grin the young teenager flashed him.

"Hi Ric, this is Mark, Jono and Tim," he indicated the boys with a lazy nod of his head and they all smiled in embarrassed sort of way. Ric narrowed his eyes and shot Cam a glare – their behaviour suggested he had told his friends. "No," was the verbal reply to the unspoken warning. "But," he grinned again. "Think they might have guessed!" Ric sighed and waited for the inevitable.

"Will you; like sign my folder?" The boy at the back spoke, holding out his battered lever arch and a pen. Ric grabbed it and automatically scribbled his name on the cover, repeating the action for the other two on their bags and folders.

"Finished?" he queried as they held their stationary, looks of awe on their faces. "Lara just woken up and I need to get home, Izzy is feeling – large!" He nodded his head at the teenagers and indicated the passenger's seat. "Get in Cam, time to go. Bye guys!" There was a collective grunt from the boys standing on the pavement and they waved as he drove off.

He remained silent for a moment as they pulled off, waited to get out of the maze of roads and the erratic traffic, mostly driven by seventeen year olds with little experience on their licences. "Did you have to do that?" he growled finally as they hit the road back towards home and he shunted the Audi into sixth gear, letting it fly down the dual carriageway.

"Do what? Tell my friends?" Cam shot back. "I didn't! Hey La," he turned and looked through the headrest at his niece who had just woken and was looking around in dazed confusion, seemingly unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. At the sight of her uncle's face she beamed him a smile, choosing in an instant to be happy – Ric observed in the rear-view mirror – sometimes it was so easy being a child.

"So how did they guess?"

"Okay, I said you were something big in the music industry and showed them a couple of photos on my phone – hardly like telling the world is it?" His voice sounded sulky and Ric had to bite back a slight smile. Oh to be sixteen again. "But I've known them for ages and have sworn them to secrecy – so don't worry. Besides, you were half expecting it anyway."

"No I wasn't!" Ric narrowed his eyes and pulled out, over taking a slower moving car blocking their path.

"You so were, you've stuck that thing on your face over the scar – so you thought you might meet someone." He fell silent for a moment and Ric glanced at his reflection in the mirror in shock. He had stuck the prosthetic on, for the first time in months. It sat oddly against his face, not uncomfortable, just that he was aware of it; of something sitting over his cheekbone. He had been thinking about Cameron when he had automatically reached into the drawer in the bathroom where it lived with the adhesive; where he always kept it at home.

"Maybe," he admitted with a shrug. "But just keep it at those three, aye."

"Aye." There was silence for a few miles. "I did say you would be able to comp them backstage tickets to your next concert as well!" He added in a rush. The words cause Ric to let out a bark of laughter.

"Next concert, hell Cam when do you think that's going to be? We don't have anything booked for months to come."

"Aren't you gonna' play T again next year? Or maybe go down to Glastonbury, you haven't been there for years. Hey, you could play a gig at college that would be really cool!"

"Don't think so bro," Ric spoke absentmindedly as he negotiated the small town they drove through awash with after school traffic. "Don't think they could cope with it all." He turned slightly and caught the look of disappointment on the youthful face next to him. "It's a hell of a thing setting up a concert you know; even a relatively basic one. And when we do world tours, heck; we have three coaches and two lorries of stuff following us around – it's not just us and our instruments you know! A small sixth form college stage would be swamped. We don't even play most universities anymore."

"Well, yeah I know – it's just..."

"It would give you five minutes of fame and fortune? Seriously Cam, it's not what it's cracked up to be, in fact most of the time it is a total drag. I promise that when we next tour, when Cluinn next do anything; you can come along and see for yourself – be a runner even if you want. Just as long as it doesn't clash with school and exams – don't think your parents would let me take you out of school!"

"Yeah, probably not; they aren't so into all that – well Dad at least. He was saying the other day that it was a real pity you weren't going to become an Advocat; that the legal profession had lost a really great brain that the music industry just didn't appreciate!"

"Ha!" He laughed again, amused by his brothers basic naivety about life. "I guess there is a compliment buried in there somewhere." He hesitated, not particularly wishing to continue the conversation; getting the nagging feeling that there was something else his brother wasn't telling him. Heck, this was hard – he wasn't looking forward to his own children becoming teenagers, although Lara did occasionally have some spectacular tantrums. "Cam, is everything okay at school?"

"It's sixth form college Ric, and yeah everything is fine!" That was a bit of a sneer in the last word which he picked up on.

"Really?"

"S'pose so," he shrugged and picked at his ink stained fingernails for a moment. Ric remained silent, stared straight ahead – the behaviour of his brother reminding him of; heck, well himself. "I mean did you ever have doubts about what you were doing; did you ever think – shit I am wasting my life studying this?" The words were delivered with a slight wail.

"Hmm, you are talking to the person who has been happily tormenting himself with a dual career for the past thirteen years." He whipped his head round and flashed a grin at his younger brother before concentrating on the road again. "What highers are you studying again?"

"Biology, Chemistry and Maths at higher and Sociology at Intermediate, but I told you that already," the words were delivered with a bit of a sneer. "Always thought I wanted to do something like Dad, but..."

"Hard work is it? Hell I remember how much more difficult it was jumping from Inters to Highers." Ric recalled as he listened, impressed at the complexity of subjects his brother was studying for. There was a grunt in return.

"Not very exciting either, I mean I sometimes wonder why I am even bothering doing higher, I could just go and get a job now."

"Whoa, stop it right there Cameron Roberts!" He unintentionally put his foot on the brake, shocked by the comment, causing the car to slow down. He glanced over his shoulder and pulled into a handy lay-by at the side of the road. Putting on the hand brake he stopped and looked at his younger brother. "Why are you saying that? It's not because you think it would be cooler to do what I do is it?"

"Well, no, guess not – maybe not."

"You're a crap liar!"

"Okay, you are rich, get to tour the world, play music and have people do whatever you want at all times. You are famous, why would I not want that?"

"It's really not like that Cam, seriously not like that." He sighed and closed his eyes, realising that he could make or break his brother's future by what he said. "Look Cam, you are taking the sciences, means you can do something medical – yeah?"

"Yeah – I mean that's what my parents do and I always thought I would like to, I don't know possibly forensics rather then psychology. But it is like years of study, years and years – not sure if I want to go that. And I hear my Dad moaning about budget cuts and shit and I don't know – working in the music industry could be really cool. And you could probably get me a job, couldn't you?" There was no ignoring the hopeful note in his voice and he sat up straighter, flashed a smile so like Ric's own at him.

"Yeah, I could and you would be paid a shit salary and be treated like dirt. As a teenager lacking any knowledge you would be a runner, or a technical assistant or the like. The techies who travel with us get paid absolute crap, most of them can't afford to buy houses, cars or anything, they literally tour with one band and then start another tour straight on – that is their life. There is no stability in that, no future. Those guys get to about forty and it is all over; most end up washed up and living in the past remembering the bands they toured with, or mobile DJs or the like. Is that the sort of life you want?"

"Well no, I mean I guess I want like a house and be able to get married and stuff, like you."

"Yeah that what most people want. But Cam, I write music and was just seriously lucky to get heard and be successful. You know we formed at uni; and didn't get a break for nine years. That was nine years of playing the odd divey gig, sleeping on floors; in a van; bumming off other people. The only reason we kept going was that Jim's parents kept subbing us – otherwise we would have probably gone the same way as so many other bands formed as students and been doing something completely different. Gus started driving delivery vans and Sandy worked in a lab for years; I did Advocate training and busked for extra cash." He paused and frowned at his brother. "Besides what instruments do you play?" He watched as the teenager shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well, um – nothing really. We all had to learn the saxophone one year at school, although I wasn't really that good."

"Singing?"

"Well Mum says I sing with gusto." He screwed up his face as if he realised how silly his answer sounded.

"Yeah and at your age I had been playing the piano and violin for twelve years and singing for longer and had taught myself how to play the guitar. Seriously Cam, you aren't about to be able to form a band and yeah you could get involved in the periphery of the music industry, but like I already said – it doesn't pay well." He watched as the face opposite him fell, the shoulders hunched again. "Look Cam – like I said I am more then happy for you to hang out with all of us when we are next back together and meanwhile I will show you how to set up the sound wiring and basic tech stuff so you can maybe help out at school with shows or something. But you have to promise me that you won't flunk out of sixth form because you think the world I live in is paved with gold – it isn't." He briefly sucked on his lip before adding quietly, out of earshot of his daughter. "Paved with shit actually Cam, usually other's people's that gets thrown at you!" He threw an arm over his shoulder. "Come on lets go on home – Mairi and Lara made a cake this morning."

"Cool!" Quicksilver emotions flashed across the face, once again happy – reassured and Ric felt a small swell within him – another future saved; sort of. With a start he realised that they had been talking longer then he realised. He had been gone over an hour already! He pulled out into the road once again and headed towards home, the few miles left quickly covered.

He frowned as he pulled into the drive, surprised at the number of cars that seemed to be parked in the sweep of gravel driving past and pulling into the garage before unbuckling Lara, helping her down from the car, his eyes sweeping over the two vehicles parked in front of the house. One was his Grandparent's, but that didn't worry him as Gram mentioned she might pop over. The other he didn't recognise and was worried it was another well meaning villager or acquaintance of Izzy's popping over for a visit. She really seemed too tired to be entertaining and he hoped his Grandmother made her keep the visit brief and the weight off her swollen ankles.

"Hello!" He called his usual greeting as he let himself in through the door, surprised when Mairi called back, causing Lara to squeal in delight and run to the kitchen, as happy with her nanny's company as she was with her own parents. He followed more slowly in his daughter's footsteps.

"Hey Mairi!" He greeted her with a grin that she flashed back as she helped Lara climb up on the infant chair; his daughter's beady eye on the cake.

"Hello yourself," she replied, opening her mouth to say more but Ric spoke before she had a chance.

"Where's Izzy?"

"Upstairs." Her broad brogue lengthened the word. "With your Grandmother and the midwives, hmmm." The lack of words and substitute of noise alerted him to what she was trying to say, obviously not wanting to alarm the small child, or Cameron who had joined his niece in rapidly consuming a slice of cake.

"You mean, oh – how long, um shit!" He pushed his hair off his face, worry and fear flooding through him as a tremble.

"She's been asking for yu for the past half hour!"

"Okay." He bent and kissed his daughter on the head; trying not to let the panic he felt show. "La, I am going upstairs to see Mummy, stay with Mairi and Cameron okay?" She nodded, her small cheeks fat with her treat, unconcerned as he turned and took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the sudden sharp pain in his stomach as he forced it to take exercise and wasted muscle to work. With no more then a brief knock at their closed bedroom door he burst through, looking around slightly wildly, wondering what was happening.

There were two nurses, obviously the midwives, dressed in scrubs, his Grandmother nowhere to be seen, along with his wife. The bed had been stripped and remained with a white sheet and single pillow, the old bedding neatly piled at the side of the room, the blinds on the window pulled so no one could look in muting the late afternoon sunshine.

"She's in the bath, her Grandmother is with her," one of the midwives offered helpfully, noting his agitation. There relaxed manner settled him a little and he slowed his footsteps and breathing, ignoring the ache in his stomach as he stepped through the door.

The water was deep, lapping at the edges and she lay half on her side, floating in the liquid, her head only just above the water; long dark hair piled on top with a clip. His Grandmother sat by the side of the bath in a small wicker chair they kept in the room, brushing stray locks of his wife's face every few seconds with a repetitive motion that must have been comforting. Both looked up at his entrance.

"Richard _gaol_," the enthusiasm in his Grandparent's voice was unmistakable and he smiled wanely at the sound, obviously they had been waiting for him.

"Ric," Izzy's uttered his name and he crossed the room in a couple of strides, sunk to his knees next to the bath, leant his head on the rim, tried to get as close as he possibly good. "Where you been?"

"Picking Cam up from school." Instinct told him to speak gently, she looked tired, slightly drawn and obviously not concentrating. "How long have you been like this?"

"An hour, bit longer."

"I think she's been in labour most of the day love, usually the way with second babies, but it has only kicked in the past hour. She was six centimetres dilated when we got her into the bath." He felt the warmth of his Grandmother's hand on his shoulder and put his over the top, glad of the knowledge and experience she carried – it wasn't just him trying to cope alone. At the same time Izzy's face creased up, her breathing started to come in tight pants and she yelped like an animal in pain, sinking even lower into the water – her eyes clenched tight; only her hand grasped the side of the bath, fingers searching for his. He placed his free hand on top of hers, not complaining as she clutched it in a tight grasp, her fingers curling around his in a crushing vice.

And then after a minute or so, her grip loosened, her breathing slowed and her eyes opened again - dazed slightly as she floated, her body sinking lower; water spilling over the edge of the bath. "Only five minutes between the last two sets Izzy," his Grandmother spoke softly but clearly, checking her watch. "I think we'd better get you out of the bath whilst we have a chance." His wife closed her eyes again and nodded in agreement, not speaking as if the effort was too much. "Richard, would you help her up?"

"Okay Gram." He stood up bent over; and stuck his hands in the water, trying to hoist Izzy up, ignoring the sharp pain that speared his middle. With a grunt she stood, half falling into his arms as she stepped out, a little embarrassed laugh escaping as she sunk to her knees. He fell with her, reluctant to let her weighty body go, taking the impact on his legs and elbows. "Sorry darling," she gasped as he untangled himself, pushing herself onto her hands and knees and lying with her head on the loo as another contraction grabbed her, her mouth thinning to a line; eyes screwed shut and he could briefly see the round swell of her stomach compress as the powerful muscles of her body expanded and pressed, the mass which had been out in front now dropped down in front of her. The midwife was in the bathroom in an instant at his Grandmother's slightly imperious call, her gloved hand pressed inside Izzy, another on her abdomen.

"Nine centimetres," she turned to her companion and nodded as the contraction eased, rubbing her back. "Let's get you on to the bed dear." She turned and gestured Ric over asking for his assistance, supporting her into their bedroom and onto the bed, where she lay in a heap, her bottom in the air, stomach pressed into the mattress.

"No Ric," Izzy called out to him as he turned to step aside, not wanting to get in the way of the midwives, feeling like a bit of a spare part amongst all the hustle and bustle. She made a weak flapping gesture with her hand and he crawled onto the side of the bed, feeling slightly gratified as she shifted so her head lay in his lap, snuggling down with a slight sigh, which changed to a gasp as another contraction came, grasping his hands tightly, the flesh turning white with the pressure. He could tell that she was dazed with the pain, which seemed to be bearing down on her. "Push," she ground the words out as the pressure on her stomach eased. "Can I push?"

"Er?" Ric looked desperately around at the three women gathered around the foot of the bed, a collective frown on their faces as they observed him and Izzy entwined on the bed. "Can she?" The head midwife, if that is what she was came and knelt next to them, once again checking the situation, moving around the slightly awkward embrace. Whatever she felt was positive because she gave him a sharp nod and voiced the same opinion to Izzy whose face was buried in his lap. He should have felt turned on, her face was so close to his crotch; her forehead cheek resting on his thigh, but only two things dominated – firstly that she was in pain and secondly; he was loosing all the feeling in his legs.

"Why are you wearing that bloody thing? Take it off!" He looked down in shock at her voice, deep growly and angry, her eyes narrowed up at him with displeasure – eyebrows drawn together with irritation. Her gaze was slightly unfocused, but it she was still glacing in the direction of his prosthetic and she made a vague stabbing motion towards it.

"I – um," he hesitated, slightly shocked at the question. He had been by her side for the past half hour or so and was amazed that she hadn't said anything earlier if she found it so annoying. He glanced over at his Grandmother who laughed slightly from her position in the armchair in the corner of the room.

"Do as she says love, never argue with a woman in labour; it isn't worth it!" The answer came back and he released one of his hands from her grasp and pried the rubber off his face, flinging it across the bed so that it landed with a slight slump against the skirting board on the other side of the room. A brief peek at the midwives showed them to have professionally tooled their faces to straightness. After all if his Grandmother's tales to be believed, they had probably seen most things – including a man pull half his face off.

"Better?" He asked looking down at his wife, tangling one hand in her hair, except she wasn't listening, instead had shifted to her knees, up on all fours, her teeth clenched as she lifted her head and he could see the strain in her face and the muscles of her body as she bore down, pushing with a wail, a few tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes with the effort. It was a magnificent and humbling sight, how she instinctively seemed to know what to do and he flung himself down near her as his name came out as a another grunted wail.

Time seemed to have very little meaning and he was only vaguely aware that the view through the blinds gradually faded as darkness drew in. An hour could have past, or days and he was surprised when he glanced down at his watch to see that he had been up in the bedroom for three hours. Izzy was now lying on he back, propped up on five pillows, her legs spread open wide, the two midwives between them active in preparation. One final gut wrenching scream that could have filled some of the arenas he played in, his hand once again squeezed; although he had lost any feeling in all his appendages some time ago. And then Isabella's wails, the midwives encouragement and his own pleas were replaced as an angry sexless cry pierced the collective noise and a small red bundle was lifted up and placed on his wife's stomach.

At once her cry turned to a sob, a few tears leaked out her eyes and she gasped, uttering simple words. "Hello darling, hello Bella," he caught her saying as she lifted an exhausted hand down, touched their child gently. He looked up, realising from his blurred view that he was also crying, tears running down his check unchecked.

And as the midwives fussed around mother and child – his Grandmother stood up and came over to the side of the bed, held out her arms to him and he crawled off trying to stand and take her in an embrace, but the numbness had set in and he stumbled as he tried to stand, the old woman supporting him with surprising strength. "Oh hell," he mumbled; with a flush of embarrassment, looking on in amazement as the midwives gently cleaned up his daughter, clipped the umbilical cord and returned her to her mother. He moved to the side of the bed once again, drawn by a force he could not describe to kneel by Izzy's side and watch as the child fussed for her nipple finding it, clamping on and feeding. Isabella seemed calm and at peace, the woman who only moments early seemed to be at the very peak of manageable pain now lay in the bed calmly watching this minute being feed.

And then as the hormonal flow slowed down, the third stage of the birth was dealt with and their little baby finished feeding he was handed to her; her miniature body in a tiny nappy and wrapped in a blanket, to hold as Izzy was taken back into the bathroom so she could be cleaned up. After hours of intense emotion, surrounded by people; he was suddenly briefly alone, except for his small daughter who now lay in his arms, her eyes closed as if the whole process of being born was too exhausting to contemplate.

He stood in the corner of the room, gazing out over the darkened landscape, the lights from the rooms below reflecting on the water outside. And peace flooded into every atom of his body. Life might end, but life started again. Sometimes it was shit, sometimes it was marvellous – but it always continued.

"Hey Bella," he spoke out loud, surprising himself with his voice; it seemed too loud when addressing this small sleeping form. "It's your Da here. Mummy is just getting cleaned up so it's you and me." He hesitated, swallowing, realising that his mouth was dry. His supporting role hadn't been as intense as Izzy's delivery, but he still had been without food for several hours and suddenly realised how tired and hungry he was. "I just wanted you to know," he continued. "I am never going to let anything hurt you or harm you, nothing at all, or your sister or your Mother. And there are a lot of people out there also hurting and I think I am going to try and help them as well – I don't know how yet, but I will find a way. So this is my promise to you, your first day on this planet." He stopped not knowing what else to say and bent his lips brushing them against the downy softness of the small forehead.

And as he turned away from the window towards the bed, he was rewarded with the sight of his wife being led back into the bedroom, clean and washed, a new nightgown on, the bed freshly made with clean sheets. The look of pure elation she shot him was tinged with exhaustion as she sunk back down onto the mattress, letting the midwife fuss with her slightly, before she held out her arms to him and their second daughter.

"Do you think Lara is asleep?" he voice was husky and she spoke quietly. He shook his head.

"I heard her a minute ago, talking with Mairi. Do you want me to go and get her?" She nodded with a smile and accepted their sleeping child from him. He walked out the bedroom, pausing briefly on the landing, letting the cooler air wash over his body before he went and stood in the doorway of his older daughter's room.

"Da!" She cried out in delight as she saw him and clambered out of the nest she had made in her duvet, running over to him and hugging his legs.

"Hey La, come and see Mummy with me. We want you to meet your new sister." And as she slipped her small hand into his, he led her back into their bedroom, watched in amazement as she clambered onto the bed, gently kissing her new sister's head. Watching his wife pull her into his side and cuddle them both he knew without a doubt. Knew he was the luckiest man alive!


	61. Epilogue

Epilogue

_About Twenty Years Later_

I sunk onto the sofa with a sigh, glad to sit down and get the weight off my legs. It had been a hectic morning, preparing the house for everyone, the onslaught of children and noise, the vast consumption of food. It was Bella's twenty-first and she was coming home for a family celebration with her sister.

Currently living down in London and studying at the Guildhall, taking her degree in Music like her father and hoping to specialise in singing; especially Opera, she was on a upward trajectory; already having had some minor roles at the ENO. It had been a wrench letting her move down there, so far away from her home and family – but I had learnt to let go; learnt that people that loved me returned as long as I gave them freedom. The fact that her sister was also down in the capital studying helped.

Lara and Bella, as different as chalk and cheese (or possibly as Ric and I) with my eldest daughter serious minded and astute; the younger fun loving, musically talented and able to charm with no more then a cheeky grin or a flash of a smile. Whilst Bella had been seduced by the dazzling lights of performing, Lara had chosen the gruelling world of medicine to make her mark in; currently in her sixth year of study at BARTS, working the antisocial hours of a junior doctor.

But they had both been able to take the weekend off, catch the train back home to Scotland so that we could all be together. I relished seeing my girls again, missed their company when they were away – levelled out some of the testosterone that enveloped my life. I reached into the magazine basket that rested next to the sofa, pulled out the photo album that rested in there, flicking through the pages. It was a year in the life of the Stewart's, a silly picture book that Ric had put together for me many years ago, before he once went on tour. I valued the preservation of the photos and in fifteen years had never found the want to archive it. Instead in vague moments of maudlin I would reach for its hard cover and flick through the pages, reliving those moments from the past. My family in their youth – Ric and I, young; a little less wrinkled and creaky, the girls as children, beautiful in innocent youth and my two tempestuous twins – the boys, who had come as a bit of a shock three years after Bella was born.

Ian and Robert, the unlikely lads as they tended to be known for few who saw them together for the first time assumed they were brothers, let alone sharing the bond of twinship. Non-identical, their appearance together was, as my doctor unsubtly put it at the time no more then a 'freak of nature'. There were no twins in the Stewart family and as far as I was aware nothing from my parents to indicate this unique occurrence.

I had joined Ric on tour for a couple of weeks, escaping the burdens of motherhood and two small girls, as the fourth worldwide Cluinn tour travelled through Europe. There in a night of frantic coupling, making love like two teenagers; the boys were conceived, somewhere around the German-Italian border. Once again it meant that I had to cope for the first half of my pregnancy alone, communicating the facts to Richard through phone calls and web videos. But thankfully the tour ended that summer without mishap, the security at the concerts so tight wherever they went, no one wanting to put any member of the band at risk again; least of all the lead singer.

And so; on a rain lashed November night the twins were delivered at the Glasgow Royal Infirmary by c-section, Ric holding my hand throughout. The whole experience less traumatic for him then Bella's birth had been. They were handed to me within seconds and as I lay there with them clasped against my breasts, crying tears of joy; I knew my family was complete.

It wasn't an easy ride, having four small children under six, my husband often away with the pressures of the band and touring. This was coupled with the work created by the charity he had set up, after a vow he made to Bella on the evening of her birth. No Knives Foundation, or NKF as it quickly became known had one major cause, to eradicate the carrying of knives as lethal weapon. Ric headed the charity, using every ounce of his success and popularity as a famous singer to promote it. The association it had with a famous rock group, the fact that it wasn't just another politician paying lip service to a growing problem meant that people sat up and listened. It became a charity that achieved, a pressure group that lobbied parliament for change and in fifteen years had been fundamental in helping reduce what had been an upward trajectory of knife related crime, especially amongst teenagers. Phantom said it wasn't cool to carry a knife, Cluinn didn't agree with the violence of knife crime – young people suddenly took note,

Cluinn stayed together for another ten years and then, tired of the erratic lifestyle, with the achievement of eight bestselling albums behind them, they decided to retire whilst they still enjoyed what they did and had an enthusiastic fan base to support them. Ric dived into his charity work, much in demand in both the UK and America for setting up smaller sub foundations, being a guest speaker at many varied events around the world and occasionally still performing some of his more delicate and solo pieces.

Jim and Laney continued to bump along as a couple, Theo turning into a charmingly precocious child, overly spoilt with the slightly claustrophobic love that Alanya poured onto him. Jim stayed clean and mostly dry, releasing two more solo albums after Cluinn had broken up, before retiring away from the limelight. It was Richard's suggestion that he set up a foundation, help disadvantaged kids who had musical talent but no one to acknowledge it. Lord Jim soon became known for his annual sponsorship when he took a child under his wing; gave them private tuition in the guitar, paid for their attendance at Edinburgh music school and helped them achieve recognition in the world of music. As Laney had said once, so long ago – it gave his life some purpose.

Angus and Tatiana had a child together, but never married. It was the one huge regret I had, that such a talented couple who were so fond of each other could not find the need or resources to stay together. Tatty was always on the search for something newer and more glamorous and when the world knocked her back, as it sometimes did; she found solace in Angus' arms. But the safety and security he offered soon bored her and she disliked having to follow him around the world as Cluinn toured. Back and forth she went; tears; arguments and recriminations hurled at each other in between and as the years passed their relationship suffered irrevocably. Finally at the ripe old age of forty Angus married an old family friend, a lady he had known most of his life and they lived a comfortable childless existence in Glasgow, not far from us; his son Edward splitting his time between his mother in London and his father in Scotland.

Sandy married his nurse, the sweet girl he met when Ric had been rushed into hospital. He cultivated a reputation as daredevil and a horrendous flirt, but strangely enough they stayed happily married, with two children. As Cluinn split; he moved to extreme challenges, became known for his willingness to cross desserts, throw himself off cliffs and dive down into the depths of the sea, often whilst doing a piece to camera. How Lizzie every managed to let him go away I never knew, for he always came back roughed up and damaged, but the adrenalin rush kept him fit and enthusiastic and at fifty he behaved like a much younger man.

And then pictures of Gram and Granada. Brian had left us two years ago, finally passing away in his sleep at the age of ninety-two. Elsie, our beloved Gram was very frail and in a rest home, but determined to join us tomorrow. I think sheer will power kept her going.

But there was no point ruminating on the past, on what had been for they would all be here tomorrow, filling the house en masse, along with Cameron, his wife and children. Tonight was for the family, six of us around the dining table, two roast chickens and a huge mound of vegetables, followed by a sickeningly rich chocolate torte, at the behest of the twins. It was all sitting waiting prepared and ready to be put in the oven.

I still loved cooking, enjoyed planning menus and creating recipes. Tatty still tried to persuade me to release a cookbook, but it was fictional novels that I still enjoyed writing, the escapism of creating characters, situations and stories. Having written his biography, I made a bit of a name for myself with my writing style, but I preferred the escapism of an imaginary life, rather than the often harrowing reality of the factual author. On the back of Richard's touring I had seen much of the world and had a vast stock of knowledge to draw up for locations and situations. Isabel Saunders was a name that you saw on most fiction paperback shelves – it was happy trash and I loved the different identity it gave me.

* * *

I was lifted from the past by the slamming of the door, the word 'hello' bellowed out to the empty space in the house as both an alert and a question. I recognised the voice at once, the maturity and deepness of tone. It couldn't be either of my sons, so it must be my husband.

"Hello darling," I said as he wandered into the family room, his suit jacket hanging from his finger, shirt sleeves rolled up for the late September day was pleasantly warm.

"Hello sweetheart." He moved over to me, leant down and kissed my raised lips, a small smile stretching his as he stood up. This was our classic greeting, exchanged almost everyday now for the past twenty years. "Finding a bit of peace and quiet?"

"Until the troops descend. The boys will be back any minute now, I just thought I would enjoy the last few moments of silence." I gave a sigh and went to move, but he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"No don't get up. I am just going to get changed and then I will make some tea. Stay there a bit longer, you won't get to sit down for the rest of the weekend." He was as good as his word and five minutes later he strode back downstairs and made the usual mugs for us, settling on the sofa next to me with a sigh, leaning his head back against the cushion and briefly closed his eyes.

"Did it work; did you manage to get the legislation through?" He turned his head and looked at me with a slight smile before he nodded.

"They voted on it last night and landslide majority. As of the first of January next year, anyone caught in possession of a knife longer than five centimetres and who doesn't have a licence will be liable to be sentenced! I know the civil liberties lot are calling it Draconian, but at the end of the day it is treating a knife with the same potential to kill as a gun and it..." He stopped talking, mainly because a placed a finger over his lips."

"Darling I know? You've told me a million times and I agree. You are not giving an interview now, so just chill – enjoy this weekend as a chance to rest with your family. You've been far too uptight lately." I narrowed my eyes at his mug, smelt the waft of peppermint that rose up from it. "Your stomach giving you trouble again?" He nodded, slightly sheepishly and took a sip of the drink.

That had been the legacy of being stabbed in the stomach. The older he got, the more he suffered with digestive problems and aches that sometimes had him clenched up in agony. It had been one of the reasons that Cluinn has broken up in the end. Although it was not publicly known, on the last tour there had been times he had been rolling on the dressing room floor with the pain and it was only by downing several strong prescription painkillers that he was able to go out and perform

It was usually kept under control with a careful diet, regular massage and by staying fit and healthy, but when stress tied him up in knots then it would flare up, often causing his temper to do the same. I realised he had to chill out and calm down, he had been so worked up over this vote, some of the biggest lobbying that the NKF had been involved in. The USA was watching to see how it received in the UK, but the pressure in the senate was to introduce something similar as law.

I reached over with my spare hand and ruffled his hair. Short now, had been for the past decade and going decidedly grey, not that I could comment as it was only liberal amounts of hair dye and careful highlights that kept mine looking as dark as it did. Yet even though we had celebrated his fiftieth birthday last year, whilst he was no longer the young sexy rock star that I had fallen in love with, he was still good looking, fit and attractive. One of those sort of men that almost grew into himself with age.

Phantom had died and been buried with Cluinn and Richard Stewart walked out into the world. He had some sessions of surgery to the scar on his face, mainly laser removal and steroid gels and the treatments caused it to fade slightly, stopped being so raised and red. Either way the whole appearance was a lot less dramatic. With the correction, the need to cover it up became removed and I gladly took the whole box of masks, adhesive and prosthetics and flung them into the loch. At the time Ric had accused me of being over dramatic – I had used the scene to good effect in one of my stories.

As he raised his hand with the mug, sipping at the peppermint he found soothing, I caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his underarm. It had been one of the key points of the charity – set up as a hard hitting group, run by people who knew and understood. One thing all the workers did was get tattoos, either permanent like the ones on my husband's inside lower arm or hennaed on, a long knife with a red cross through it. Dramatic and hard hitting, it was an obvious way to show support for the aim of the NKF. Knives weren't to be carried as weapons. It had become as trendy as the latest haircut and as desirable as the latest designer handbag to be seen sporting one and many famous men and women were known to have them inked onto their body from supermodels to musicians, politicians to many business leaders.

With the huge national and international recognition of the charity, rewards and honours were heaped on my husband; the latest was earlier this year when he was awarded a KBE in the New Year's Honour List. Sir Richard Stewart was knighted by our young king in January, who spoke warmly to him of growing up with Cluinn's music and the impact it had on his life. Ric had been awed and dazed by the honour, doubling his efforts to make sure his charity achieved its aims. I was even more bemused to find that I was now to be known as Lady Stewart.

Our few moments of peace were disturbed as the door once again slammed, the sound of voices raised in bickering and our sons wandered in arguing genially with each other, ignoring us as they walked past into the kitchen. Rob came out a few moments later, a bottle of juice in his hand, swigging from the receptacle rather then pouring it into a glass as I liked. "Um, Rob," I called out, letting my tone of voice show my displeasure. He stopped dead, like a rabbit caught in the headlights and turned with a charming smile, echoing that of his father.

"Hey Momma, Da!" His voice was bright and overly cheerful, knowing he was in the wrong. "Didn't know you were home!"

"Only because you never look past the end of your nose," his brother chimed in joining him in the archway that separated the kitchen from the family room where Ric and I sat. I had to smile as I looked at them standing there. People often didn't realise they were twins, let alone brothers – Ian taller, more willowy like his Father with my dark hair that hung to his shoulders. He tended to take a slightly sardonic and angst ridden view of life, quoting Shakespeare and Socrates at the drop of a hat. It could be tiring at times, although his intelligence and recall was startling.

Rob was the sun to Ian's moon – a shade under sixth foot he was broader in the body and had recently had his vivid red hair put into dreadlocks, a move that had angered and annoyed me no end. His musical talent was undeniable and at a few months shy of eighteen his ability on the guitar and piano was fantastic. We both were aware that he wished to follow in his Father's footsteps and already he and his friends had a talented group going. But Ric refused to pave the way for him, didn't make any calls to friends or let him ride the wagon of being the son of a successful musician – if he wanted to achieve something; he needed to do it the hard way.

Success was beckoning though, no denying it. As a tribute to Richard and Jim's fiftieth birthdays and the sixtieth anniversary of the famous festival, Cluinn briefly reformed and on the closing night of Glastonbury they strode onto the stage and held the audience transfixed for nearly three hours with a huge back catalogue of music. I had refused to go up there and sing, despite pressure from all my friends and family. Whilst Ric at fifty still cut an attractive figure, I was less sure of my middle aged, three times pregnant body. I was hardly fat, but I didn't have my husband's athleticism and the thought of standing in front of that huge crowed, duetting on songs I hadn't sung in public for over a decade was too much. Instead Bella took my place.

But Ric said that they had been written as love songs to me and to sing them with his daughter was weird and not in a good way. Therefore Rob had his chance in the spotlight and we watched from the side of the stage as our children transfixed the audience with their playing and singing of our four songs. I stood with my husband's sweaty arm wrapped around my shoulder, resting my head on his chest, listening to his breathing settle, the music blaring in my ears and felt the years slip away. He had refused to bring out the leather trousers again, saying it was indecent for a man of his age to wear anything like that, even his jeans were no longer eye wateringly tight as he had worn them in his youth, but the black denim and sleeveless t-shirt he wore still made him look good. We had gone back to the hotel and made love that night.

"Momma!" My name was practically shouted and I realised that I had zoned out slightly with the memories, shaking my head to bring me back to the present. My sons were looking at me with almost identical questioning expressions. "When are the girls getting in?"

"Oh, um the five-thirty train. Ric were you going to go and pick them up?"

"Hmm, yes," he replied absentmindedly, pushing himself up from the sofa and taking my empty mug from me. "Why do you want to know Rob?"

"Can I come Da?"

"Why?" He looked at his son in exasperation. We had been over this several times before that tonight was supposed to be a family evening.

"I just need to pop into Barney's – get some more guitar strings, that's all. Don't really want to head over there tomorrow."

"I have spare strings in my study if you need them. Why the sudden urgent need?"

"He's holding me some and you know..." The guilty look on my son's face had Ric and I exchanging a glance. He wasn't a very good liar, or maybe it was the sixth sense that parents seemed to develop.

"Okay," Ric sighed. "I will drop you off, pick up Lara and Bella and come back. If you aren't waiting outside I am coming back home without you!" He warned sternly. "You can see if he has finished that restoration on my Gibb for me as well!" He clapped Rob on the shoulder. "I am in my study if you need me – remember to help your mother and do your homework – I am leaving in an hour!" And with that he strode off to his sanctum and firmly shut the door on the chaos.

"He had to remind me didn't he?" Rob scuffed his trainer across the floor, embarrassment welling up in his cheeks so they became nearly as red as his hair.

"You so deserved that," his brother observed unsympathetically. I eased myself to my feet, realising that I needed to break up another spat. Richard had lent Rob his custom built Gibson, made especially for Cluinn's last full tour, to play on stage at Glastonbury. It would have been the perfect promotion to have father and son playing back to back on their guitars, except Rob got carried away with a solo, jumped off a speaker and landed awkwardly, the irreplaceable guitar worth tens of thousands taking the majority of the impact. To compound matters he hadn't told his Father for weeks afterwards, simply hung it back up on its peg in the garage. It was only when Ric got it down for a jam that he noticed the splintering and cracking – it had been a noisy and vicious argument that had ended up with our teenage son grounded with a chore list as long as his arm. Typically Rob really.

"Stop it you two, up to your bedrooms – homework," I reminded them with all the authority of a sergeant major – it was sometimes the best way to get them to do things. "Supper is at eight and Ian, can you lay the table for me before the girls get home?" They mumbled at the commands, dragged their feet upstairs, but I knew they would listen. They were good kids – all of them.

* * *

Later that evening all six of us were gathered around the table. I had gone for the romantic look and on that early autumnal evening had lit candles and dimmed lights, so we ate in a comfortable glow, conversation relaxed, the meal a drawn out affair, rather then the hurried snack it had a tendency to be as everyone rushed off with different agendas.

I looked at my family sitting around the wood, Ric opposite at the other end, the boys on one side and girls on the other. Lara looking tired, but still keeping up a flow of conversation with her Father, eagerly updating him on some of the more gruesome details of the admissions, Bella talking animatedly to the boys about life in London and her latest role in a production to be released over Christmas at the National Theatre.

But with the plates scrapped clean, hardly a morsel of food left to consume, I cleared my throat and drew my family's attention. "Annabella my love," I started, a brief private smile at Ric. "We are celebrating your arrival as a twenty-one year old this evening and I just wanted to say how proud you make me and your Father as parents, how grateful we are for your warmth of nature and your desire to succeed. We wish you the best of luck and happiness in life." I raised my glass in toast, all of us around the table joining in, my second eldest child, not easily ruffled blushing with the attention.

"Thanks Mamma," she said with a smile, dropping her eyes slightly.

"And as you know," Richard picked up the conversation. "Twenty-One is usually seen as the key to the door and the future. So it is our turn to give you your key, which will hopefully help you succeed and continue to grow, or at least ease the pressures of life a little." And with that he handed over an envelope. It was family tradition, each child had a bank account, and the details kept in their own safety deposit box. Ric had set up a trust for each of them when they were born and kept a careful eye on deposits. On Lara's twenty-first we handed over responsibility to her and now it was Annabella's turn, the key being the security card needed to access it at the bank.

She took the stiff envelope he handed her, leant over and hugged and kissed him, a few tears leaking out of my eyes as I watched her, accepted the same emotional thanks. She sat back down in her chair, theatrically fanned herself in an effort to regain control before flashing a smile at her siblings. "What you got me then boys?"

"You wish," Ian counter joined. "You are far wealthier then us now! You should be buying us presents for being wonderful brothers!" The snort of disagreement made us all laugh.

"Actually," Rob contradicted softly, an unusual tone for him to use and we all fell silent. "Um, I did get you something – knew you were looking for this and um here you go Bel, err; happy birthday!" He slid a roughly wrapped present across the table at her. She made short work of the tape holding it together and held up the small plastic box with a squeal of delight.

"Oh my god Rob! I can't believe you found this, they are totally rare – and it's in mint condition." In the dim light I couldn't clearly see what she was holding, but it looked like a CD in its jewel case. An obsolete object, CDs were no longer made, everything downloaded on to increasingly small memory cards. The days when music and movies were pressed onto discs were long gone and I wander why she was so excited by this antiquated present.

"Barney tracked it down for me," he said with a shrug and I raised eyebrow at his Father. Obviously what he had wanted to pick up from the shop this evening.

"What is it Bella?" Richard asked and his daughter passed him the plastic box. "Oh!" The look on his face was briefly shocked, before a smile tugged at his mouth. "Why would you want this darling?"

"Because, it's the original and the best and rare as hen's teeth and it is a little bit of history. Your history, my history!" I quirked a brow at my husband and he held the present up for me to see. I was also shocked as I saw it was a limited edition pressing of 'The Fifth Cellar' CD. They had been exceedingly uncommon, only available through the fan club as a special release, unlike the ones that had gone on general sale. It featured Ric and I singing 'Broken' and 'Consequences' as raw acoustic pieces in addition to the other duets. We had also signed only one hundred of them that were given away as prizes. One of which my husband now held in his hand – I was surprised, didn't think they existed anymore.

"You guys seem to forget what you have both achieved," Bella said as her glance bounced off both Ric and my stunned expressions. "And in my old age and wisdom," her brothers snorted, "I am realising more and more how much you have done, how influential you both were, not just to my and La and the boys' lives, but to so many people. You know there is still a 'Cluinn' fanclub at Uni Da? Momma, almost everyone I meet has read at least one of your books and the charity is front page news everywhere!" She shrugged. "I just want to own some of that history, have it as mine, be able to hold it and look at it and say 'yeah, these are my parents' have something tangible rather than just another file on my computer." She sighed. "And my request as an extra birthday gift – Da, Momma, I was listening to the first Cluinn album on the way up and was wondering. Will you sing 'Broken' for me? The both of you, right now – please?"

"Now!" I automatically searched for Ric's gaze at the request, amazed that our daughter could ask such a thing. His challenge to me never changed. In twenty-five years of knowing him he could still rile me into doing things with a quirked eyebrow and a cocky smile on his lips. It was the look he gave me right now and I could feel the blood rising.

"Okay darling, if you want," he said quietly, placing his napkin on the table and standing up. He briefly pressed a kiss to her dark hair and then walked around the wood, drew me up from my seat. In the dim light, casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the wrinkles on his face erased with candlelight he could have been twenty-six again and I could have been that naive girl on the balcony of the pub. He put his arm around me and walked to the piano, sat down as I leant against the side, put his fingers on the keys and started to play, his voice gravelly as he sung.

_"I wanted you to know,_

_I love the way you laugh..."_

_The End_

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**And there you go - The End. It was horrible to have to write those words as I could go on typing, but there is the risk of the story becoming circular, the same scenarios in different locations. What I might do, is write snapshots of all the scenes and scenarios that floated through my mind. Some I started to write and stopped as they just didn't move the storyline on, others I wanted to write but just didn't fit in with the style of the story. Please let me know.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it. All the best. Pips **


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